Red String
by the pink striper
Summary: When Stan Marsh decides that he wants more out of his super best friendship with Kyle Broflovski, a lovesick Kyle has no choice but to accept. Now Kyle has two years or less to convince Stan to love him back. If only things were that simple.
1. September

**RED STRING ****   
**Author: the pink striper   
Rating: M for language and sexual humor/situations.  
Pairings: Stan/Kyle, Kenny/Butters, Cartman/Wendy, and other minor pairings.   
Summary: Stan Marsh has decided that he wants more out of his super best friendship with kyle broflovski. A lot more. What starts as a simple experiment quickly spirals out of control, which, in a town like South Park, is never a good thing. Meanwhile, Kenny McCormick decides that high school is a waste of his time, much to Butters Scotch's horror, and Eric Cartman decides to follow Wendy Testaburger to Harvard. Let the games begin.

x

"_I taste blood every time I think of summer. If that's true, I'm in for quite a treat 'cause I'm beggin' for the sun in a mid-Missouri winter waitin' desperately to get outta town. No, you can't keep a good man down. You've been known to obsess over the future. Do you think you'll get away from the past?"  
**-Topeka by Ludo**_

x

   
**SEPTEMBER**

x

When it came to college, Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski had compiled a list of three requirements:

1) it must be as far away from South Park as continentally possible (Stan's clause, not Kyle's);

2) it must be as far away from Eric Cartman as continentally possible (Kyle's clause, not Stan's) and;

3) they must go there together (both, though Stan said it first).

Given those requirements, they were looking mainly on the East Coast, though Kyle said they shouldn't rule out California because it was a well-known fact that Eric Cartman wouldn't set one fatass foot there.

On the first day of classes, Stan and Kyle found themselves a table in the back of the library and stacked it with every book on colleges that they could get their mitten-covered hands on. Kyle had never messed around when it came to his schoolwork, but, this time, Stan was right there with him. The only thing he wanted more than to get out of South Park was to get out of South Park and never come back. If he had to spend the next two years in the library like a nerd, he'd do it with a smile on his face and love in his heart.

"There are tons of colleges on the East Coast, dude. How are we going to narrow them all down?" Stan asked, leaning forward to read over Kyle's shoulder. "We don't even know what we want to study yet."

Kyle shifted so that Stan's chin fell neatly onto his shoulder and they could both read comfortably. "Speak for yourself. I know exactly what I want to do."

"Don't leave me in suspense or anything."

"I'm going to medical school."

A smile bubbled forward. "A Jewish doctor? Have you told Cartman?"

"That fat piece of shit can kiss my Jewish ass."

The smile turned into a laugh. Stan had never seen two people more devoted to holding a grudge than Cartman and Kyle. From Pre-K right up to junior year, they were still constantly at each other's throats. Kyle had just stopped Cartman from trying to shut down an orphanage three days ago.

In Cartman's defense… he wasn't all _that_ fat anymore. He'd lost the double chin and any fat that was still sagging over his pants was either nonexistent or hidden very well under his hockey jersey. Kyle was the only one who still dared to call Cartman fat; everyone else was too afraid Cartman would sit on them. But, then again, Kyle was the only one who could still take Eric Cartman down with a single punch.

The librarian called for them to shut the fuck up and Stan stifled his laughter, moving back into his own chair just in time for Wendy to arrive in a flurry of pink and purple. She'd traded her trademark yellow skirt and purple beret in for a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a lavender headband sometime around seventh grade, topping it off with a white t-shirt under her purple form-fitting coat. Stan and Kyle hadn't done very much but get larger sizes of the coat, jeans, and hats they'd been wearing since childhood, but the girls were constantly changing clothes. As though anyone cared what they looked like but them.

Stan cleared the seat next to him of books so Wendy could sit down, remembering when his heart (and stomach) used to flip at the sight of her. He and Wendy had made a pretty good run of it, but when a recently cloned Tyrannosaurus Rex picks up the restaurant you and your girlfriend are on a date in and tries to eat you both twice, you kind of have to figure that God and whoever's watching just plain doesn't want you together. Things like that hadn't stopped happening in South Park, but, at least, they'd stopped happening to _Stan_.

Besides, between school and football and Kyle, Stan didn't have much time for girls. Thankfully, Kyle hadn't had a girlfriend since he'd broken up with Bebe in eighth grade, which meant that he had just as much time to devote to Stan as Stan did to him. That made it seem a little less pathetic.

"I am so pissed off!" Wendy announced as she pulled a notebook and a glitter pen from her backpack. "Your fat fuck of a friend decided it'd be really fucking funny to come to my Future Democrats of America meeting and throw horse shit at everyone! We're not in fucking fourth grade anymore!"

"Ew," Stan and Kyle said simultaneously, looking Wendy over for stains.

She scoffed. "He didn't get any on _me_. He's got really bad aim for a hockey player. Anyway, can we just get to work?"

Kyle slid the book across the table to her and started talking academic programs and scholarships, which was interesting for all of five seconds before Stan started to drift off. Kyle was his super best friend and everything, but he sure could turn on the geek when Wendy was around. They spoke to one another in big words and complex terms that only they seemed to understand. That had pissed Stan off considerably when he and Wendy were still together, but now it just made him wish they wouldn't talk to one another when his brain was around to hear it and implode.

He was saved by the arrival of Kenny, rumpled and satisfied-looking. The chair on the other side of Kyle had originally belonged to Kenny before he'd found out why they were in the library and had taken off to 'find a book'. Considering he'd been gone for a good hour and had no book in his hand, Stan had to assume he'd found the culprit of the loud and erratic breathing that had been coming from two shelves over.

"Your fly's undone," he informed Kenny. "And you're a whore."

Kenny laughed shamelessly, running his fingers through his hair with one hand and pulling up his zipper with the other. "Hey, Stan, if you want some, you're welcome. Forget Kyle; I want to wear _your_ ass as a hat."

"Fuck you, Kenny. I told you to stop bringing that up," Kyle snapped. "That was a long time ago."

"Someone spray painted it on your locker last week."

"Shut up!"

"Guys," said Stan, ever the pacifist. "Relax, Kyle. Kenny's just messing around and you know it. Kenny, leave Kyle alone. You know he takes everything as serious as a heart attack."

Kyle glowered at him, but Wendy, taking Stan's pacifist lead, asked him about DeVry University's business programs and they were suddenly speaking another language again.

Kenny interrupted once more to get Kyle to switch seats with Stan and then, once they were all settled, sighed heavily. "Man, classes just started. Am I really going to have to listen to you guys talk college right up until graduation?"

"You could always talk college with us," Stan said, though he knew the likelihood of that were about as high as Cartman having a genuine change of heart. Even if Kenny could get into college (which, to be perfectly honest, his grades could not guarantee), he had no way of paying for it. The look Kenny gave him clearly said that he saw that Stan was doing and didn't appreciate it. Stan changed the subject. "So, who was it this time? Bebe? Red? Craig?"

"Craig's with Tweek now. It was Sally. Girl's got a mouth like a—"

"_Sick_, dude. I'll just take your word for it."

"Seriously, Stan," Kenny shook some hair out of his face and then drew up his hood, even though he hadn't gotten a replacement jacket since sixth grade and it was more than a little small on his tall, lanky frame. "You need to get some action. We're sixteen fucking years old and you haven't gotten some since you were eight. I know if you and Wendy so much as _try_ to copulate an earthquake might split your bed in two, but there are like fifty other bitches at school who'd love to get into your pants." Kenny winked. "And I'm one of them."

"Stan, do you mind?" Wendy said without looking up from her book.

"No, not at all," Stan replied and punched Kenny in the arm for her. "I don't need some action, Kenny. What I need is to get into a college far, far away from here. If I'm lucky, it'll be so far my parents won't visit. Shelley went to Stanford and they drive up there all the damn time."

"What about me? You go too far and I'll never see you again. God knows you won't come back and visit."

"You're really planning to stay here after high school, Kenny? You want to waste your life in this little podunk town?"

"You say that like I've got a choice," Kenny shrugged. "I'm poor, Stan. I've got two options after high school: gas station or garage. And I fucking hate cars."

Stan tried to think of something to say in response to that and failed. The wry smile on Kenny's face made it obvious he didn't expect a reply.

"You're such a fucking buzzkill, Marsh. I need a smoke."

He saluted the members of the table and headed off with his shoulders slumped and his hands in his pocket. Stan knew that the more they discussed college and taking off, the more depressed Kenny got, but what the hell was he supposed to do about it? Hide Kenny in his suitcase and hope no one noticed that he didn't actually go to that school?

He turned and joined the discussion Wendy and Kyle were now having about Brown, taking notes about the various programs and extracurriculars Brown had to offer though Kyle had a way better chance of getting into Brown than he did. Stan's grades were average at best, slightly below average at worst. Wendy and Kyle competed with Butters and Cartman for the top spot on the honor roll.

They stayed in the library for another two hours before Wendy noticed the time and realized she'd missed her bus. A round of impressive cursing later, Kyle offered her a ride home with them, and the three of them headed out to the parking lot where Kyle's reasonably priced camero was waiting. They passed Kenny chain-smoking on top of the principal's car and waved, getting a good-natured one finger wave in return.

"He's really irritable when Butters is absent," Wendy observed as they stuffed their bags in the trunk. "And he smokes a lot more, too. He was down to one cigarette a day until today."

Kyle nodded. "Butters is going to be pissed when he gets back. He hates it when Kenny lights up."

"I think he hates it even more when Kenny gets head from people in the library unless he's the one giving it," Stan added, joining Kyle in a laugh. Butters wasn't quite as innocent as he used to be, a byproduct of spending so much time with Kenny, but it was obvious to everyone _but_ Kenny that Butters was hot for him.

Stan turned to glance at Kenny one more time, watching the blond cover his eyes with one orange-parka covered arm, and sighed. "I really wish there was something we could do for him. To help out, you know?"

"Me, too, dude." Kyle said as he climbed in the car. "Me, too."

x

Kenny watched Kyle drive off, watching the road with all the anal retentiveness of Sheila Broflovski at her most thorough, and lit up another cigarette. Kyle would get into a good school. Hell, he could probably get into an Ivy League even if he slept through junior year, his grades were just that good. Wendy wasn't far behind and Stan… well, okay, maybe he wasn't Ivy League material, but with his skill at any sport man had ever invented plus his natural aptitude for leadership he was sure to get in somewhere nice.

Kenny had everything he could see in front of him. He was born in South Park, he'd been raised in South Park, and he'd probably die in South Park. His family ate pop tarts for dinner every night just so he could afford to go to school. College was a joke. When he graduated high school, all he had to look forward to was a minimum wage job that would hopefully pay the bills and not just feed his father's booze habit.

The longer he thought about these things, the more depressed he got. He was only sixteen years old for Pete's sake. He'd been hoping that Kyle wouldn't start talking college until senior year, but it figured Jew boy would want to get on that as soon as possible. Kenny would just have to deal.

It would help if Butters had shown up for school. Kenny had dragged him out to Stark's Pond at midnight to go skinny dipping and Butters had caught a cold that would keep him out of school for at least the next few days.

There was a stack of homework next to him that he was supposed to deliver to the Scotch residence, but there was also a half-finished park of Camels in his pocket that Kenny wanted to finish first. Butters hated it when he smoked which meant he had to get rid of the evidence before he spent all day watching Butters hack up his own lungs and drown in his own phlegm.

With Stan and Kyle being as close as they were and Cartman being, well, Cartman, Kenny had felt a little detached from the other boys. As a result, he'd made friends in odd places: Craig, who he still shared a cigarette with every now and then, Bebe, who gave good head but was otherwise pretty useless to him, and Ike, who called Kenny for advice behind Kyle's back because he knew Kenny wouldn't sugarcoat a little thing like butt sex.

And then there was Butters, who was like the moon to their earth, always orbiting, never quite fitting into their pretty tight-knit group. Kenny could sympathize and the more he'd hung out with Butters, the more he'd realized that the two of them weren't really so different. They liked all of the same things and their differences were more fun than they were annoying. Kenny loved to get Butters all riled up by talking in extremely graphic terms about everything under the sun and Butters just kept surprising him with his endless optimism and childlike innocence.

Kenny took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew the air out slowly. Butters was like a breath of fresh air in his shithole of a life and being without him was a lot like drowning.

"Ugh," Kenny sat up, tossing the cigarette on the ground and jumping off the car to snub it out. "I sound like a fucking girl."

He grabbed Butters' books, grinning at the sweaty imprint of his head against the principal's windshield, and headed out of the parking lot.

It was a long walk to Butters' house, made even longer by Kenny's awareness that it would take five seconds by car. Every little thing seemed to be conspiring to remind Kenny that he was poor, from his parka, which only hit him at mid-chest, to his boots, which had been stolen from a dumpster out behind Mr. Donovan's store three years ago. Kenny wasn't one to waste time wallowing in his own emotional shit, but, damn, being poor sucked balls.

He knocked on the Scotches' door, holding the books up as a peace offering. Mr. and Mrs. Scotch didn't even bother to hide the fact that they didn't like him and that they especially didn't like him hanging around with their son. He imagined that if ever Stephen Scotch got his hands on a shotgun, he'd probably start using Kenny as target practice.

No one answered the door, which meant the Scotches were out but Butters was probably in. Extremely happy to avoid the prerequisite Mexican stand-off, Kenny opened the door and went upstairs.

Butters was nothing more than a lump of blankets on the bed in an overly warm room. Kenny set Butters' homework down on the side table and cracked open a window, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

"You alive in there, dude?" he asked, grabbing and shaking what he thought was a leg. "Butters?"

There was a groan and then the blankets shifted and one glazed blue eye peeked out. The rest of Butters' head soon followed and Kenny felt a wave of guilt-edged sympathy. Butters looked like shit, his blond hair clinging in limp clumps to his face, his cheeks red, his lips chapped. Kenny thought it had been worth it to get to see Butters naked and damp for a half and hour, but Butters sure didn't look like he agreed.

"W-Well, heya, Kenny," Butters said weakly. "I sure am glad to see ya." He sniffled, then wrinkled his little red nose. "You been smoking again?"

Kenny cleared his throat and pointed behind him. "I brought your homework. We can work on it together if you want. I've got nowhere to be for a couple hours."

Actually, Kenny had nowhere to be period, but he hated staying at Butters' house for dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Scotch were aware he was just looking for a free meal and hated him for that, too.

"That sounds great to me." Butters arranged himself into a sitting position and managed a smile. "Tell me how school went."

Kenny told him about Cartman starting the Sophist Club or, as Kyle described it, "public speaking for assholes" which was… really just public speaking for assholes who wanted to convince anyone to do anything at any time. He told him about Stan and Kyle starting their college search and Cartman's prank on the Future Democrats and even about his altercation with Sally in the library.

Butters wrinkled his nose again. "Stan and Kyle musta made you real upset, huh?"

Sometimes, Kenny really had to marvel at Butters' ability to see right through him. He didn't know if Butters was naturally perceptive or if he was just easy to read, but it sure saved him a lot of time talking.

"I—Yeah, kind of. I don't want to talk about that right now," he climbed over Butters and grabbed the books. "Let's just get to work, okay?"

"Well, alright," Butters sighed. "But we're going to have a long talk about this later, boy howdy."

"Suck my balls, Butters."

"A-And we can do _that_ afterwards."

Kenny was surprised into laughing. "I'm a horrible influence on you."

"So you keep saying."

Kenny smiled as they bent forward and got to work, his leg warm where it was touching Butters. He usually had a hard time concentrating on his homework, mostly because it was hard to concentrate on anything with his parents screaming and yelling just a room away, but he never had that problem when he hung out with Butters. His grades had steadily improved since he'd started doing his homework at Butters' house to the point where he actually sometimes gave a shit where he passed or failed.

"It's like," Kenny began apropos of nothing as he scribbled down a formula. "I know college isn't _not_ an option for people like Stan and Kyle and, well, you, but if I go home and tell my parents I want to go to college, they'll probably just break out laughing. I can barely afford high school let alone college. And, with my grades, I couldn't even get in anywhere. _And_ my parents need whatever money my future job can provide the family with. No matter which way you slice it, I'm going to be stuck in South Park for the rest of my useless fucking life, Butters, so why fight it?"

Butters nudged him with his leg, eyes large and bright with feeling. "I-I don't think you're useless, Kenny."

Kenny laughed humorlessly. "Well, you're the only one."

"We're just juniors, Kenny. It's not like everybody's going to pack up and leave you right now, is it? Don't you wanna enjoy the time you've got left?"

"Wouldn't I just be in everybody's way? Distracting them from their studies? Kyle keeps saying that junior year is the year you really need to work your ass off to impress the collegiates. He's already moodier than a preteen on the rag for the first time and it's only the first day of classes!"

"You're never in my way," Butters insisted, lowering his eyes to the bed. "A-And I'm sure not going anywhere without you."

Kenny waved a hand dismissively. "Don't be stupid, Butters. You're going to go to Stanford or Yale or something and I'll be here pumping gas and thinking about the good old days. If I'm lucky, they won't repossess my house so I'll still have an address for you to write to. _If_ you write."

"I would! Boy howdy, Kenny, I swear I would!" Butters grabbed his arm and shook it to emphasize his point, then dissolved into a fit of sneezes that reminded Kenny that he wasn't the only one with problems. Feeling bad all over again, he crawled up the bed to sit next to Butters and wrapped an arm around Butters' waist.

"You don't have to worry about me, Butters. I accepted this stuff a long time ago. You know how I get sometimes. Some booze and a willing pussy or two and I'll be fine."

Butters sniffled again, snuggling against his side. "I sure wish you wouldn't say things like that, Kenny. It's disrespectful to women."

"Alright, alright. A willing ass or two and I'll be fine. I'm not picky."

Butters jabbed him with his elbow, but there was a smile on his face and Kenny couldn't help but smile back. He could deal with his shit in his own time. Right now, he had to nurse his friend back to health.

x

Eric Cartman felt sorry for the stupid assholes at his school. Well, that wasn't true. He felt sorry for them if "feeling sorry" for someone really meant "mocking them behind their backs." Because, unlike the useless sacks of idiocy he was forced to put up with every day, he knew exactly what he wanted out of life. And what Eric Cartman wanted was sitting in front of Mr. Mackey's office with her hands holding a copy of The Feminine Mystique.

He took the empty seat across from her (and part of the empty seat next to that), cleared his throat, and announced, "What the hell are you doing here, hippie?"

Wendy Testaburger glowered at him over the top of her book. "I'm seeing Mr. Mackey for college advice, obviously. What are you doing here? Set some small children on fire out back again?"

"'Course not, bitch," Cartman scoffed. "I did that last week. Keep the fuck up."

Wendy rolled her eyes and went back to reading, missing the smile that crossed his face. She was so easy to rile up, almost as easy as Kyle. However, where he riled up Kyle for the sheer satisfaction the Jew's misery brought him, he pissed Wendy off because… well, just because.

"Still smells like shit in the Future Democrats room," Cartman said idly. "Someone should do something about that. It's been like two weeks. They must have a crappy president. Ha-ha, get it? Crappy?"

"I will kick your fucking ass here and now if you don't shut up, Cartman."

"I'd like to see you try, ho." Actually, all things considered, he really wouldn't. A quick change of subject was in order. "Anyway, I don't see what you're bothering Mr. Mackey for. You and I both know you can't get into college. Universities hate hippies more than I do."

"Cartman, I swear to god…"

"Where are you applying, anyway? Good old FBRU—Fat Bitches on the Rag University?" He laughed at his own joke while Wendy continued to give him the look of death over the top of her book. He didn't know why she didn't just put the thing down. She hadn't turned the page since he'd sat down. "Or maybe you'll just have to repeat a year here so Garrison can make you even stupider than you already are."

"For your information, _fatass_," Wendy exploded, throwing the book down and getting to her feet. Her eyes were spitting fire, her fists were clenched, and she looked like a demon that had just been loosed from hell to bring fiery retribution down on the Jews. It was _sweet_. "I'm applying to Harvard!"

"_Ey!_ Don't call me fat, you fucking bitch." Cartman said because he had to, his tone more smug than angry. "And, by the way, Harvard _really_ hates hippies so if you want to get in, you might want to stop smoking pot and rallying against tittie killing."

Wendy opened her mouth to bitch some more, but then Mr. Mackey's door opened and Craig stepped out, flipping him off on the way. Wendy gave Cartman another death glare and stomped into the office, leaving her book and her bag behind her. Cartman waited a good five minutes to make sure she wasn't about to come back out and claim them, then started rifling through her shit.

Wendy's bag contained the following: iced tea flavored lip-gloss (which, mmm), a heart-shaped hand mirror, some girly makeup shit, a tampon (which, ew), a breast cancer ribbon, a half-finished bag of skittles, a pamphlet on the US's top rated colleges, and a crumpled piece of paper.

Cartman stuffed the skittles in his pockets and unfolded the paper, recognizing it immediately as a scribbled list of colleges, Harvard at the top. In addition to Wendy's girly handwriting, he also recognized the Jew's shitty print, adding stuff like "intensive business program" and "heavy competition for law firm partnerships" under Wendy's college choices.

He didn't know whose idea it was to let Wendy go cavorting around with dirty Jews, but it sure as hell pissed him off. If Stan had managed to hold onto the bitch for longer than a week at a time, then maybe she would have been too busy to mind-fuck Kyle all the goddamn time. If it were him, he'd have been like, _bitch, stop talking to that scrawny daywalking Jew and go make me a fucking sandwich!_ And she'd have been like, _Oh, of course, Cartman, but, first, you should totally plow me on the dinner table with your hot hockey body._ And he'd have been like, _hell yes._

But, no, his life could never be that simple. He had to sweet-talk her and shit first. Because Wendy was the classy type of girl who wanted a man who would either let her do whatever she wanted (like Stan, the pussy) or let her do whatever she wanted _and_ give her good sex (like Token, the fag). And, apparently, she also wanted someone to have intelligent discussions with (hence her mind-fucking with the Jew).

All of that sounded a lot like work to Cartman, but luckily he'd had plenty of time to work on it. First, he'd pulled up his grades until he, Butters, Wendy, and the Jew were in constant competition for coming in first on the honor roll. And, yeah, sure, he had to lock Butters in remote locations and sabotage a couple of calculators sometimes, but, hey. He was bettering himself for his woman. Bitch needed to fucking appreciate it.

Then, of course, there was the sex part. Because apparently girls were afraid of disappearing into his fat rolls, never to be seen again, much like that handful of cheesy poofs he'd found like a month after eating him. Which meant that he'd had to get buff and actually _work out_. He'd started running in the mornings, lifting weights, picking Kyle (or Butters) up and throwing them into things. He hadn't slimmed down so much as he'd bulked up, but the result was the same.

And, once he'd joined the hockey team, he'd been getting so much pussy thrown at him that going to school felt a lot like going to Raisins. Of course, the tail result of _that_ had been that he'd garnered himself a reputation both as a good lay and a whore almost as big as Kenny, but, again, he was bettering himself for his woman.

The last thing he figured he could have a leeway on. After all, Wendy never let him do whatever the hell he wanted. She was always bitching. If he wanted to go to her Future Democrats of America meets and throw horse shit at all the stupid hippie liberals who were obviously only there to get in Wendy's skinny jeans (as though the ho didn't notice she was the _only girl there_), then that was his fucking business. Case closed. The end.

He heard the doorknob turning and quickly shoved Wendy's stuff back into her bag, zipped it up, and made it back to his seat in time for her to stare at him suspiciously. Cartman heard his pants crinkle as he shifted and cursed.

"You went into my bag and stole my skittles?" Wendy asked, eyes narrowed. "God, you really are a fatass."

"_Ey_!"

Mr. Mackey cleared his throat. "Eric, you shouldn't go in Wendy's bag, mmkay. It's just unkind, mmkay."

Eric considered lying, but it wasn't worth it. Instead, he shrugged, got up, and made sure to bump into Wendy and sent her tumbling over as he passed. His eyes went wide and innocent. "Oh, gee, I'm sorry, Wendy. Here, let me help you."

He grabbed her gently around the waist and picked her up amid her protests, setting her on her feet and flexing a little for good measure. Wendy socked him in the ribs.

"Ow, bitch! What the fuck was that for?"

"For being the biggest. Asshole. Ever." Wendy hissed, grabbing her things in a fit of righteous indignation. "_Seriously_."

She stomped off yet again and Eric watched her butt sway from side to side in those blessedly tight jeans of hers, wondering what song they would play at their wedding.

"Eric?" Mr. Mackey interrupted. "It's your turn now, mmkay?"

"Right, right." He put his thoughts on hold (for the moment) and headed into the office, taking his customary lounging position in one of the chairs before the desk. "Well, first off, my top choice for college is definitely Harvard…"

x

Kyle found Stan outside in the schoolyard, dozing off under a tree despite the fact that it was fucking cold as always and the grass was buried under a light sprinkling of snow. Before Stan could catch hypothermia, if he hadn't already, Kyle removed his coat and tossed it over Stan's head. Stan didn't even stir.

Kyle rolled his eyes and took a seat. Stan had been working himself pretty hard in the three weeks since classes had started, keeping his grades high while he tried to decide what to do and what college to do it in. Kyle had been working too hard for too long to get exhausted by it now but Stan wasn't used to caring this much about his schoolwork, especially not in South Park. Everything Stan knew about life, he got from television and his karate teacher. Everything he knew about anything else, he got from Kyle.

Stan shifted against the tree, his head slipping and falling neatly onto Kyle's shoulder. It was less surprising than one might think. He and Stan were constantly gravitating around one another, like magnets that inevitably snapped together in just the right way. Cartman was always calling them fags because of it, but Stan and Kyle had been _Stan and Kyle_ for so long that personal space was kind of a myth between the two of them. And, honestly, that was just the way Kyle liked it.

It sounded creepy and pathetic when he thought about it, but Kyle lived for these moments. When he could stare at Stan uninterrupted, without having to explain it away by pretending that there was something on Stan's face or something over his shoulder or some other transparent excuse like those. Truth was, at times like this, Kyle could acknowledge to himself that Stan was beautiful with his clear blue eyes and his permanently messy black hair falling across soft, tan skin…

Damn, creepy and pathetic didn't even _begin_ to cover it.

He took out his books and got to work, freezing his nads off while Stan slept like a dead man on his shoulder. He had just finished Calculus when Stan mumbled something about tacos and lifted his head. Unfocused blue eyes stared blankly at Kyle for a moment before Stan lifted a hand and began to rub them.

"Kyle…?" he asked exhaustedly, running his fingers through his hat-less hair. Stan had retired the red poofball hat in the summer before freshman year. Kyle still wore his ushanka to hide his hair, but only when it was below freezing. "When'd you get here?"

"Like an hour ago, dude. When did you get out here?"

"I don't know." Stan yawned again, slowly joining the world of the conscious. "I had eighth free and kind of wandered out here sometime around then. How'd your meeting with Mr. Mackey go?"

"Pretty good, I guess. He didn't really tell me anything I didn't already know and, like everybody else, he thinks I'm jumping on the whole college band wagon a little too early."

Stan settled back against the tree. "Well… who can blame you in a town like this? I don't know how you and I have managed to keep our sanity this far. I mean, remember seventh grade? When Dr. Mephesto accidentally brought those pumpkins to life and we had to stop them from killing all the Canadians—by which I mean just your brother?"

"Or fifth grade when Bebe had that bomb jammed up Token's ass because he dumped her for Wendy," Kyle said with a shake of his head. "Or fourth grade when your parents hired that guy to pretend to be your future self and scare you off drugs, then chopped off his hand when you tried to force them to tell you the truth?"

"Or third grade, when Cartman nearly got us all raped by NAMBLA…" Stan had to laugh. "Seriously, dude, we need to get the fuck out of here before any more weird shit happens or we become as stupid as everybody else we know."

Kyle didn't really think that was possible considering the sheer level of stupidity they were faced with every day, but he wasn't willing to stay in South Park and take the chance.

He nudged Stan with his shoulder. "We'll get out of here. We have to."

Stan's smile was slow and warm which in turn made Kyle feel warm despite the freezing temperature. And, of course, he had to smile back. Stan had the kind of easygoing attitude that made people feel at ease in his presence and he had the kind of addicting smile that made the people around him want to smile, too. Stan had charisma, plain and simple, and not in the crazy sociopathic way that Cartman did, but more in the noble and courageous way that made people want to follow him anywhere because they knew he could get a job done.

"Dude, you're staring," Stan said, breaking Kyle out of his thoughts. "What's up?"

Kyle closed his textbook. "Nothing. It's just—"

"Hello Fag brothers, Hippie and Jew." Cartman greeted as he approached from the side door of the school building. He was twirling his hat around his fingers, red coat unbuttoned to reveal the black and white jersey underneath, and his hair had been cut and spiked into what he referred to as a "tough jock cut" but what Kyle thought was better described as "wannabe jackass". His mood, which had been so mellow and happy before, quickly went sour the faster Cartman approached. "What's going on?"

"None of your business, fatass. Don't you have another group of kindergarteners you should be trying to sell for beer money?"

Cartman snorted as he pushed his way in between Stan and Kyle until Kyle and Stan were on opposite sides of the tree and Cartman's bulk was taking up one whole side by itself. "That was _last_ week, Jew. Keep the fuck up."

Kyle had no idea why he even still spoke to Cartman, except for maybe out of a sick, twisted masochistic mockery of camaraderie. He hated Cartman and Cartman hated him. He had to stop Cartman from doing something morally reprehensible at least once a week and Cartman was always going out of his way to bully or otherwise humiliate Kyle at least twice as often. And yet he and the fat tub of lard still spent way too much time in each other's company to truly be considered enemies.

Still, he fucking _hated_ Cartman and Stan knew it. Kyle was gearing up to chew Cartman out for being such a rude, lazy, stupid ball of pig-fucking shit, but Stan cut him off, instead engaging Cartman in a lively conversation about the differences between hockey plays and football plays. Kyle swallowed his anger, though he was missing the warmth of Stan's leg and shoulder pressing against his already. Instead of that comforting familiarity, his bony shoulder was touching Cartman's pudgy one.

Kyle fucking hated Cartman.

Just when he was about to get up and relocate to the library until Stan was ready to go home, he caught sight of Kenny making his way back onto school grounds. Kenny spent just as much time out of school as he did inside it, but, luckily for him, his teachers just assumed he'd died rather than acknowledge that he was skipping.

Kyle lifted an arm and waved, catching Kenny's attention, and shifted away from Cartman in time for Kenny to take a seat on the final side of the tree.

"Where's Butters?" Kyle had to ask, because Kenny was far more well-behaved when he had Butters around to keep him in check. "And does he know you're—"

"No, and you're not going to tell him," Kenny warned, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "He's in cheerleading practice. Bebe flagged him down seventh period asking if he'd come help them with the routine. I don't think she realizes he's got a dick."

"And how come you're not in there watching the cheerleaders, lardo?" Kyle drawled sarcastically. "Bebe finally take a restraining order out on you?"

"Says the guy she dumped because he wouldn't put out," Cartman snapped. "And you wonder why people call you a fag."

"I thought people called him a fag because he and Stan play hide the sausage on the weekends," Kenny said around a ring of smoke. "And, you know, whenever else they can find the time."

"For the last time, you guys, Stan and I are _not_—"

"—telling _you_ anything about your sex lives so stop asking."

"What?" Cartman, Kenny, and Kyle said simultaneously.

Cartman groaned in disgust. "Lame! I don't want to be thinking about _that_ all day!"

"I do," Kenny said brightly. "Details, please. Give me a minute to get my fly open and…"

Cartman cried out in protest of that, but Kyle had checked out of the conversation sometime around "sex" and now he couldn't seem to hear anything over the pounding of his own heart. Stan generally tended to take the frequent gay references a lot more easily than Kyle did; while Kyle reacted in defensive anger, Stan was more likely to ignore it or just brush it off. But neither of them had ever added fire to the flames. Not… not _verbally_. Kyle had no idea how to react.

"Goddammit!" Cartman shouted, getting to his feet. "Screw you guys, I'm going home!"

Kyle watched him storm off, muttering about faggy Jews and even faggier pussies, and wondered if he was aware that he was heading for the gymnasium, not the parking lot. On his other side, Kenny was checking the time on his five-finger discounted watch.

"Cheerleading practice is over. If you guys aren't about to make my lower half very happy, then I'm going to go get Butters and spend the rest of the afternoon playing Hello Kitty Island Adventure."

"We'd better head home, too, Kyle," Stan said casually. "Unless we're waiting for Wendy?"

Kyle fumbled awkwardly with his bag for a moment before responding, "Nah, dude. Let's just go."

It wasn't until he was safely buckled into the front seat of Stan's Honda hybrid that he finally decided to ask.

"What was _that_ about? You realize that Cartman's probably going to tell everybody he runs into that we're sleeping together, right? Hell, he'll probably take out a billboard on all the major highways!"

"You act like they'll be surprised," was Stan's line of defense. "Everybody already thinks we're sleeping together."

"_Thinks_ being the operative word here, Stan! They didn't have any evidence until you went and gave it to them!"

Stan stopped at a red light and gave Kyle a puzzled look. "Why is this bothering you so much, dude? It was just a joke."

"I—" Anger and fear warred for dominance but neither emotion could supply an appropriate response. He deflated against the seat. "Nothing. I'm just overreacting. You… you know how Cartman pisses me off and that's when we _don't_ supply him with ample teasing material and—Dude, this isn't my house."

Stan had brought the car to a stop in front of Stark's Pond and was getting out. "Come _on_, Kyle," he said when Kyle failed to follow his example, rapping lightly on the window. "We need to talk."

Which was about the least reassuring thing Stan could have possibly said. Though he trusted Stan way, way more than he trusted Cartman, Kyle couldn't help but remember Cartman taking him out on a boat in order to off him with a wiffle bat.

Stan sat down on the bench and Kyle warily sat down next to him, getting more and more nervous the longer Stan went without speaking. He usually prided himself on being able to read Stan like a book, but he couldn't see anything beyond the air of casualness. It was unnerving. Kyle felt everything _but_ casual.

"You ever wonder," Stan said so abruptly that Kyle jumped the slightest bit. "Why it is that everyone thinks we're gay? I mean, I play football, you play basketball, those are pretty masculine things, right?"

"Um. Well. According to Kenny, it's the way we act around each other. He says that we, um," Kyle tried to think of the best way to put it. "We act like we share a lung and when we're not around each other, we can't breathe properly. And it's… the way we look at each other like nothing's more important and… the way we touch each other like we're not aware we're not… _y'know_. I mean, according to Kenny, but Kenny thinks everyone is fucking everyone and all of life's problems can be solved by sex."

"I've thought about it before, you know," Stan said quietly, now looking at everything that _wasn't_ Kyle. "People start suggesting something to you enough times, you kind of have to think about it. I don't think I'm a flamer or anything, but since I broke up with Wendy and you broke up with Bebe it's been like… there's no one more important to me than you. That's weird, isn't it?"

Kyle licked his suddenly dry lips. "I-It's not weird if I feel the same way. You're my super best friend." He wanted, considering the tone of the conversation, to talk to Stan about Bebe, tell him that Cartman was a stupid fuck and they hadn't broken up because Kyle wouldn't put out, but bit his lip instead. "Stan, where are you going with this?"

"Okay," Stan got to his feet and started pacing. "Look, we're juniors now and next year we'll be applying to college and getting in and we've got to be prepared for the possibility that we might not get into all the same schools and that we might end up in completely different towns or cities or states or _whatever_. We might not even _be_ super best friends anymore."

"Stan—"

"And I don't want to make things weird or anything, Kyle, but this may be our only shot and if _everybody we've ever come in contact ever_ seems to think we have a boner for each other, then maybe… maybe there might be some truth to it? Maybe we're missing out?"

"S-Stan—"

"So, I mean," Stan came to a stop in front of him and placed his hands on Kyle's shoulders. "I think we should see."

"See what?" Kyle asked, trying valiantly to keep up with the conversation despite the fact that he was feeling more than a little lightheaded now. "What are we seeing?"

"Kyle… will you be my boyfriend?"

x

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. October

**RED STRING**  
Author: the pink striper  
Rating: M for language and sexual humor/situations. And Kenny.  
Pairings: Stan/Kyle, Kenny/Butters, Cartman/Wendy, and other minor pairings.  
Summary: Stan Marsh has decided that he wants more out of his super best friendship with Kyle Broflovski. A lot more. What starts as a simple experiment quickly spirals out of control, which, in a town like South Park, is never a good thing. Meanwhile, Kenny McCormick decides that high school is a waste of his time, much to Butters Scotch's horror, and Eric Cartman decides to follow Wendy Testaburger to Harvard. Let the games begin.

x

"_Hey, I think you're cute. Would you like to be my new best friend? We can talk for hours or just lay in bed. Feel free to hold my hand. Feel free to kiss me on the cheek even though I'd prefer the lips. Can I put my arms around you? 'Cause I'd sure like to."  
**-Hey by Backseat Goodbye**_

x

**OCTOBER**

x

Not many people could understand why Bebe Stevens and Wendy Testaburger were friends.

To be perfectly honest, sometimes Bebe couldn't understand it either. She could hold a conversation thick with pop culture references and lewd references to male genitalia just as easily as she could hold one about biochemistry or the unfair subservience of woman in society. Wendy tended to have a low tolerance for the former and a preachy sort of arrogance in regard to the latter that made her kind of unpopular with other people.

Bebe wore brand-name clothes and the latest trends, read _Cosmogirl_, _Teen Vogue_, and the _Wall Street Journal_, and had chopped off most of her hair, leaving a flirty, curly blond bob in its place. Wendy wore environmentally friendly thrift store finds, read feminist books and pamphlets from Greenpeace, and had grown her hair out so long that it hit her lower back even when it was in a ponytail. Bebe was kind of the leader of the girls at school; Wendy split her time between them and a bunch of boys she claimed not to be romantically interested in.

Despite their differences (and the fact that Bebe had tried to shoot her that one time), Wendy and Bebe had remained good friends. It was by no means the weirdest thing to ever happen in South Park, but it was still pretty bizarre.

"I have some really good news for you and then I have some really bad news for you," Bebe said as she and Wendy ate yogurt at Raisins. For guys, Raisins was a breeding ground for the Future Prostitutes of America, but, since females were not their usual clientele, it was a quiet place to hang out for all in possession of an almighty uterus. "Which do you want first?"

"Uh," Wendy murmured, finishing a line in her book before closing it and raising her eyes to meet Bebe's. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Good news first: Sally heard from Kenny who heard from Red who heard from Clyde that Token's got a boner for you again." Bebe near-sang, delighting in the way Wendy rolled her eyes and frowned. "If you pout your lips the right way, he might give you a Benz."

Wendy never handed out the same kind of excruciating details about her relations (or in Wendy's case, strictly relationships) that Bebe did, but she had frequently complained about Token treating her like a trophy wife. Every time they had hooked up, he'd bought her overly expensive presents and taken her on overly elaborate dates and showed her off to his friends like she was some kind of prize.

Of course, all Bebe had heard was "bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch _whine_" because if she could find a guy to pay her way through life while she focused on her studies, she'd marry him right away.

"If that's the good news, I don't want to hear the bad news," Wendy said, dumping the rest of her packet of peanuts into her yogurt cup.

Bebe's grin widened. "You really don't. I heard from Kenny that he got an eyeful of Cartman's college list, right? It's _identical_ to yours. Down to the reasons for attending."

"_What_?" Wendy choked, face going red with either anger or embarrassment. Bebe wasn't really sure. Wendy and Cartman had kind of a strange relationship.

On the one hand, Wendy complained about him so much it had gone right past "the lady doth protest too much" and right into "the lady doth stab the man if it were legal." On the other hand, there were times when Cartman would come up in lunchtime conversation (as members of the sports teams often would) and Bebe would swear she could see a hint of irritability in Wendy's eyes. The kind of irritability present in jealous girls and stalkers with crushes.

But, then again, she wasn't exactly good at reading people. After all, she'd gone out with _Clyde Donovan_. It had taken her three years to realize that he was dumb as a post in addition to being unattractive and no amount of shoes were worth it. She was lucky her reputation had survived _that_ mistake.

"Yeah. I mean, Kenny was talking about more than just Cartman's college stuff, but I figured that's the part that would interest you." Bebe said with what she hoped was enough sympathy. "His top choice is Harvard and everything."

"That doesn't make any sense," Wendy breathed once she'd dislodged the peanut from her throat. "Cartman is a fat tub of—of _fat_ whose interests include other people's pain and the destruction of societal order! What could he possibly want at Harvard?"

Bebe stuffed a wad of yogurt in her mouth in lieu of a reply. She kind of liked having her intestines inside her body.

Wendy didn't seem to expect one. She stared down at the table, whispering to herself. "This can't be a coincidence. He must have seen my list in my bag and copied it just to piss me off. It's just some kind of prank he's gearing up to pull on me. Get inside my head and make me lose my focus so _I_ won't get into Harvard and he can laugh and laugh and—"

"Of course, you could always get the first laugh by obsessing over it and talking to yourself in public."

Wendy blinked as though she'd just remembered that Bebe was there. "What?"

"Whatever reason Cartman has for doing it, there's some part of him that's also using this to get under your skin. And, girl, it is totally working."

It took a few moments, but Wendy eventually straightened her shoulders and sat up in her seat. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right, Bebe."

"I always am."

"Cartman is a stupid shit and I shouldn't let him get to me."

"No, you shouldn't."

"And I'm going to get into Harvard and he's not and I'm going to rub it in his stupid face!" 

"Which was _totally_ my point."

Wendy raised her brows playfully at the sarcastic tone and flicked a peanut at her. "Shut up."

Bebe laughed, scooping out the last of her yogurt and looking up just in time to catch sight of Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny passing by outside.

Her eyes, as always, caught on Kyle in particular, rememorizing the way his ass fit in those jeans and the way his shirt rucked up as he reached over to punch Cartman in the shoulder. Even though they'd broken up ages ago (and once before that), Bebe couldn't stop herself from looking. After all, whether he realized it or not, Kyle was one fine male specimen. Hell, they all were.

"What are you—" Wendy turned to see what had Bebe so fascinated and smiled. "_Oh_. You know, if you're still so sprung over Kyle, I don't see why you don't just try getting back together with him."

Bebe jabbed one pink-painted nail in Kyle's direction. "_That's_ why."

Just before they disappeared from view, Stan's arm reached out to wrap around Kyle's shoulder and Kyle seamlessly fell into step beside him, cheeks going pink. Wendy blinked again.

"When did _that_ happen?"

"Circa Pre-K," Bebe sighed. "Kyle's great and everything, but, unless I want to spend the rest of my life coming in second to Stan, I need to set my sights elsewhere."

"Well, what about Kenny? You're both… um… blonde?"

"Kenny's poor as shit. I'd rather be Kyle's beard than spend the rest of my life eating Pop Tarts and living out of a cardboard box. Besides, he's tapping Butters."

"_What_?" Wendy craned her head to look out the windows again, but they were long gone. "Are you joking?"

"No seriously. You've always got your head buried in a book so you probably haven't noticed, but practically every guy in town is screwing every other guy in town. It's like the metro-craze except they're acting gay instead of dressing gay." Bebe sniffed. "I hope it's not contagious."

"Homosexuality isn't a disease, Bebe."

"I _know_ that." She shrugged. "But in South Park you can never tell."

x

They decided to go to Cartman's house because he had the newest version of the gamesphere and all the best games, a byproduct of keeping his hands firmly around his mother's balls all these years. Which was all well and good, but since it was _Cartman's_ house, the first thing they noticed upon entering was that Mrs. Cartman and her bed springs were really enjoying themselves upstairs.

"Aw, god_damn_it!" Cartman cried, slamming the door behind them. "Mom's watching her damn movies too loud again!"

"Dude, that's no movie," said Kenny with a leer. "That's your mom in the throes of some surround sound passion."

"Shut up, Kenny, you poor piece of crap!"

"Who do you think it is this time? The mailman? She does the mailman a _lot_. Loves the size of his, ah, _package_."

"Kenny, I will chop your fucking balls off!"

Stan let Cartman and Kenny bicker like five year olds and grabbed Kyle's hand, leading him over to the couch. Kyle had only been his boyfriend for two days now and the novelty hadn't yet worn off.

Stan was a pretty loyal guy. He'd only had two really important relationships in his life and he'd devoted a considerable amount of time and energy to both. Things with Wendy had never quite worked out because the stupid things that happened to them seemed to be conspiring to keep them apart. However, no matter what happened and no matter how stupid it was, Stan had always gotten through it with Kyle at his side. This had been a long time in coming.

"Dude," Kyle said with an embarrassed smile. "You're staring."

Stan grinned and leaned in close until he could hear Kyle's breath stuttering. "Yeah, well, you've got something on your face."

"Yeah? Wh-What?"

"My fist if you two fags don't cut it out!" Cartman interrupted, tossing two controllers to Stan and Kyle respectively, then wedging himself in between Stan and the arm of the couch. "God, Stan, I don't know what the Jew did to you to make you suddenly have a boner for him, but try to keep it in your pants, would you?"

Mildly irritated that his extremely well thought out pick up line had been interrupted, Stan scooted over until his thigh was pressed against Kyle's and tried to focus on the game. With each new round, he made sure to kill Cartman first, which kind of held up the game as Cartman would just scream foul, call Stan a cheating hippie, and then reset the game. Eventually, Kyle had to nudge him with his leg and beg him to stop killing the fatass so they could just play uninterrupted.

Cartman won (Cartman always won because Cartman always cheated) and once he'd gloated to his satisfaction, he put on a rerun of the Terrence & Phillip movie and went to the kitchen to find himself a snack. No one bothered to ask him to bring something back for them. Cartman would either a) ignore them entirely or b) bring what they'd asked for just so they could have the pleasure of watching him eat it in front of them.

"So why did you two suddenly decide to stop hiding the aforementioned boners?" Kenny asked conversationally once he was sure Cartman was too wrapped up in food to overhear. "Not that I'm not enjoying this, but curiosity wins out."

Kyle chose that moment to do his best impression of a couch cushion, leaving Stan to respond. "Dude, we've got, what, two years of high school left before we're gone? That plus the fact that practically everyone we know is an idiot doesn't inspire me to care much what they think of me or who I'm dating."

"God, that was beautiful. I think you should seal it with a kiss. And use tongue."

"_Kenny_," Stan and Kyle groaned simultaneously.

"Okay, fine. No tongue."

"How are you this horny?" Stan had to ask, exasperated. "Didn't you just get laid this _morning_, Kenny? Or were you and Kevin sneaking out to skip?"

"Both, actually, but that never means I'm not interested in a little after school show." Kenny waggled his eyebrows suggestively, laughing when Kyle smacked him in the stomach with a pillow.

Stan's lips twitched with the desire to laugh, too, but the look on Kyle's face told him it would not be appreciated. He tossed a glance over his shoulder to check for Cartman, then snaked a hand around Kyle's waist, pulling his super best friend in close.

"Relax," he whispered into Kyle's ear, keeping an eye on Kenny to make sure he wasn't eavesdropping. "It's nothing we haven't heard before, right?"

Kyle's response was a jerky nod and he seemed all too ready to scramble away from Stan when Cartman returned to the living room with an armload of food. The three of them snatched what they could get before Cartman broke their fingers then settled in to watch some good old Terrence & Phillip while Stan puzzled over Kyle's reaction.

Kyle had been his boyfriend for two days and his super best friend for as long as he could remember and he'd never scrambled _away_ from him before. Not even when Stan had pointed a loaded gun to his head that one time. Of course, he could explain it away by saying that Kyle didn't want to give the fatass any more incentive to annoy the shit out of them, but that had never really stopped them before…

Stan was thinking so hard about things that he missed the entirety of Asses of Fire, concentration only when Kenny stood up, stretched, and said, "Hey, Kyle, drive me home."

Kyle stared up at him in confusion. "What? Why?"

"Because I promised Butters I'd picked him up from the animal shelter on the way and it'd be a hell of a lot faster by car."

"I'm not seeing what this has to do with me."

Kenny grabbed Kyle by the arm and hoisted him up. "You can play tonsil hockey with your boyfriend later. Come _on_." Without releasing his hold, Kenny smiled brightly and suspiciously. "Bye Stan, bye tubby."

"_Ey_!" Cartman shouted around a mouthful of cheesy poofs. "Go fuck yourself with a hockey stick, poor boy!"

Kenny manhandled Kyle across the room and out the door, ignoring Kyle's numerous protests. Stan and Cartman stared after him, then at each other.

Cartman held out a handful of Twizzlers. "Want?"

"Thanks, I guess," Stan murmured, grabbing a few and settling back against the couch. "I wonder what that was all about."

"Knowing Kenny, he's probably going to pump the Jew for information and then mooch off him for dinner and a ride," Cartman said with a surprising amount of wisdom. "Of course, that's all instead of doing the morally acceptable thing, which would be to just give Kyle AIDS and leave him to rot in a sewer somewhere like the Jesus-killing asshole he is."

Stan sighed, wondering why the hell he was still friends with Cartman. "Of course."

x

"Okay, let's be honest with one another here," Kenny said as soon as they'd walked a block. "If you and Stan had been together for as long as he's acting, I wouldn't have had to put up with your bitching since fourth grade, so what is going on between you two really?"

Kyle honestly considered lying but Kenny had him backed into a corner and he knew it. He jammed his hands into his pocket, trying to shrug off the sheer awkwardness he'd felt squashed between Kenny and Cartman on the couch, trying to pretend he _wasn't_ torn between jumping on Stan and jumping as far away from Stan as humanly possible.

This sudden shift in their relationship had been so quick that Kyle was still adjusting to it. He'd feel a lot better if Stan was having the same problem, but, apparently, once Stan had decided to have a boner for him, he'd _really_ decided to have a boner for him. At least Stan hadn't tried to kiss him yet.

"Stan asked me out and I said yes," Kyle muttered, keeping things as simple as possible. "That's all."

"Bull-fucking-shit, Kyle," Kenny said with a roll of his eyes. "If you don't tell me the truth, I'll guess and my guess involves highly inappropriate sex so—"

"_Okay_, Kenny! Stan took me to Stark's Pond and told me that we should start dating because everybody already thinks we're dating and he figures there must be something we're missing out on! Nobody suddenly has a boner for anybody, alright?" Kyle's voice cracked. "Alright?"

Kenny stopped walking and opened his arms. Kyle resisted for all of five seconds before relinquished whatever dignity he had left and stepped into Kenny's embrace, clenching his eyes shut to keep from further embarrassing himself by crying. Kenny squeezed him comfortingly, whispering things under his breath that really didn't mean anything, but seemed soothing all the same. Kyle just hoped no one was passing by. Everyone already thought he was gay for Stan without adding 'whore for Kenny on the side' to his reputation.

"I couldn't say no," Kyle said shakily. "I couldn't say no, but I—"

"Hey, I understand," Kenny pulled back until he could see Kyle's face and offered him a sympathetic smile. "Believe me, I understand better than you know. And if Stan had even half an idea what he was doing, he'd be beating himself up over it right about now."

"I _know_ and that's what makes it so hard. Stan's acting like—when I know he doesn't—and if he finds out that _I_—" Words failed him, something that was, thankfully, as rare as it was annoying, and Kyle was let gesturing helplessly. "What do I do, Kenny?"

Kenny's first response was to offer him a cigarette. When Kyle declined, he tried actual words. "Well, you and I are two different people, but if it were _me_… I'd probably use this as an opportunity to convince Stan that he liked dick."

"Ugh, Kenny."

"No, no, hear me out for a second," he continued as they resumed walking. "Stan asked you out because he thinks you're missing out on something, right? Well, _show_ him that he's missing out. If you play your cards right, this could stop being an act for him and then you could be having gay sex so often you'll never sit down again."

Kyle hated it when Kenny wrapped his point in lewd references, but he couldn't deny that there was a point somewhere in there. Stan was approaching practically what Kyle considered to be an extremely emotional subject, namely the possibility of him and Kyle as a couple. When Kyle had imagined Stan asking him out, it had usually been in an admittedly soap opera-y kind of way, complete with a full-blown sexuality crisis and maybe a huge fight about nothing that would culminate in weeks of avoiding each other that would be eventually resolved with one of their "You know I learned something today…" speeches and a kiss they would feel all the way to their toes.

Kyle was kind of a romantic like that.

This, though, was more of a science experiment than a relationship and Kyle wasn't sure he could handle Stan announcing that the results of his research were that maybe he and Kyle weren't meant to be after all. Did he really have the power to influence that?

"I can see where your thoughts are headed, Broflovski, and let me personally attest to the fact that you are so smoking hot you could burn my boxers off with a single look," Kenny said in what Kyle assumed was supposed to be a helpful tone. "Stan already likes your personality. Now you've got to work on getting him to want you for your body."

They had reached Kyle's house. Kenny wandered over to the car while Kyle trudged his way to the front door.

"He likes my personality _as a friend_. I've never heard him say, 'God, Kyle, hearing you talk about logarithms, gastrointestinal disorder, and the Star of David makes me so hot'. Wait here while I get my keys."

Fortunately for Kyle, his mother did not appear to be in and he could always hear when his mother was in. Ike was sitting around the kitchen table, peeling an apple and watching Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, if one could watch television from another room. It helped that Ike's best friend, Fillmore, was sitting on the couch and shouting the questions and answers in to him.

"You guys aren't doing anything bad or inappropriate are you?" Kyle asked because he was technically supposed to be babysitting them. But, hey, Ike was an eleven year old genius. What did he need supervision for? "Because if you break something—"

"You'll what?" Ike asked, tossing away the apple core. "Tell Mom it happened while you were busy not being here?"

"No. I'll tell Mom it happened while you were busy using her hair curler to try and fail to make your own mini-satellite."

Ike stared him down.

Kyle stared right back.

Fillmore whistled. "_Awk-_ward."

"I'm going to take Kenny to pick up Butters and then I'll be back to watch you all you want, okay?" Kyle teased as he grabbed his keys off the coffee table and headed for the door. "I'll watch you so much, you'll start to feel paranoid. Hell, I'll watch you so much, you'll have dreams about me watching you."

"As soon as you leave, I am so calling child services!" Ike called after him. "I mean it this time!"

"Been there, done that!" Kyle called back.

Kenny was sitting on the hood of the car when Kyle returned, drawing a penis in the snow next to him. Kyle rolled his eyes, unlocked the doors, and climbed in.

"Just think about it," Kenny continued as soon as he was settled into the seat. "You guys have been practically dating your whole lives anyway. How hard can it be to make the switch from rumored lovers to not-so-secret lovers?"

Kyle started the engine. "Oh, you have _no_ idea."

x

Half-way through fifth period, Eric Cartman suddenly found himself smashed between a locker and one very pissed off Wendy Testaburger. He quickly looked up and down the hallway to make sure no one was witnessing this highly embarrassing act—him, 6'3" and on the friggen hockey team, and her, 5'5" and more interested in developing her mind—then tried to school his expression into one of utmost innocence.

It didn't work.

"Repeat after me," Wendy hissed, slamming him against the locker with each word. "You. CAN'T. Follow. Me. To. College!"

Cartman sneered. "What the hell are you talking about, bitch? Take your damn Prozac, would you?"

"What am I talking about?" Wendy dug through her bag, giving Cartman enough time to slip around her, then brandished her crumpled college list. "Don't try and tell me your list isn't identical to mine! I'm not immune to gossip, you know, and everyone's talking about how the two of us are going to Harvard together!"

Cartman hadn't heard anyone talking about anything, but then he hung out with Stan, notoriously anti-gossip, Kyle, the loser geek Jew, and Kenny, who never talked about anything but boobs. God, he needed cooler friends.

"Aren't you an arrogant little pain in my ass? What makes you think you have anything to do with me wanting to go to Harvard?"

Wendy's cheeks colored, but she pressed on, "Why—Why else would you want to go there? You can study to be a professional food tester anywhere else!"

"For your information," Cartman said smugly. "_I _want to go into politics."

"Politics?"

"That's right, ho. You're looking at the future president of these United States."

Wendy stared at him for so long Cartman feared her eyes would fall out. The pure, unadulterated horror on her face would have been gratifying if it hadn't been so insulting.

He snapped his fingers until she finally blinked. Then, he instantly regretted it.

"_You_? President? _You_?" And she had the nerve to sound even more horrified than she'd looked. "There is no way anyone would ever—" She stopped then continued. "Well, anyone outside of South Park would ever—I wouldn't let them. You hear me, Cartman? I won't let you ruin our country and—and exterminate all the Jews! I _like_ Rebecca and Kyle!"

That left a sickening feeling deep in his stomach, like eating bad shrimp or any food he could find laying around Kenny's house. "You're wasting your time with that daywalking Jew-bastard. In case you haven't noticed, he's boning your ex-boyfriend. I thought you'd have better taste in men than that, ho, or are you a natural fag magnet?"

"I must be since I can't seem to get rid of _you_!"

"Watch who you're calling a fag, you hippie bitch!"

"And anyway, even if I _was_ interested in Kyle, which I'm _not_, it wouldn't be any of your business!"

"Don't lie! Just watching the way you cream your pants when he says stupid nerd crap like 'antiquated standard deviations' makes me sick!" Once again, Cartman found himself violently shoved between Wendy and locker. He grunted in pain, but didn't stop glaring at her. "You know, this is getting really fucking annoying."

"First of all," Wendy said through gritted teeth. "There is no such thing as an antiquated standard deviation, which is why I don't believe you want to go to Harvard, let alone that you could get in. Second of all, I do not 'cream my pants' for Kyle Broflovski. Third of all—"

"Then who _are_ you creaming your pants for? Because, like I said, Marsh is taken by the Jew which kind of leaves you to be their incredibly unattractive beard."

"It's none of your business! God, I don't know why I even bother!" Wendy stopped gripping the front of his shirt and clutched her temples instead, lashes moist with tears. Her voice was soft when she spoke again. "Why can't you just…"

She trailed off as their staring contest took on an entirely different emotion. Cartman had to keep his hands pressed firmly against the lockers to keep from doing something stupid, like reaching up and wiping away those tears before they fell or, worse, opening his mouth and insulting her when she was obviously on the brink of sharing with him something he may never get the chance to see again.

He didn't know what she was seeing in his eyes, but he half-hoped she could read even an inkling of how he felt about her. It was fucking annoying, this whole love thing, and way more complicated than it had any right to be, but Wendy Testaburger was above and beyond any challenge he'd ever had to tackle. He'd try. For her, he'd try.

They were interrupted by the appearance of Kenny McCormick and Butters Scotch. Butters was giggling at something that Kenny had said, but, as soon as the two of them caught sight of Cartman and Wendy against the lockers, Butters' hands flew to his mouth while Kenny's eyebrows became one with his hair.

"Fucking finally, Cartman," said Kenny, applauding. "I didn't think you'd ever nail her. And it's only been, what, five years? Good job."

"Well, I'ah sure am happy for you, Eric." Butters said with much more sincerity. "You, too, Wendy. I-I know how you feel about—"

"I've got to get to class," Wendy stammered, stepping away from Cartman and wringing her hands. For a moment, it appeared as though she was going to say something else, maybe finish her thought from before, but then she just shot him a half-hearted glare and marched away.

Cartman watched her go, feeling an overpowering sense of loss, then turned on Kenny and Butters.

Kenny got the hint quick. "Uh, Butters, you might want to get out of here. If he kills me, I'll come back. You, on the other hand…"

"N-Now, Eric," Butters said warily, backing away. "Don't do anything you'll regret in the morning…"

"Oh, believe me, Butters," Cartman slammed the fist of one hand into the palm of the other. "I won't regret this."

x

Kyle had managed to evade him for a week. Stan knew it had been a week because a) he had been counting and b) they hadn't hung out in about that long. He and Kyle were still a matched set at school, of course, because they had most of the same classes and ate lunch together and it was kind of hard to avoid someone you forcibly spent that much time with. But outside of school it was a different story.

Every time Stan had called or texted with an offer to hang at one of their houses, Kyle would respond that he (or, alternatively, he and Wendy) were studying for the PSATs. And then, when Stan would offer to come over so they could all study together, Kyle would put him out the door just as soon as Wendy announced she had to go home.

It felt like he was dating Wendy all over again except that when he walked her home, he was able to say goodbye without throwing up on her. He was sure they were both thankful for that.

But back to the problem. Kyle had been evading (though not avoiding) him for a week. Call him crazy, but Stan had kind of assumed that dating Kyle would entail seeing _more_ of Kyle, not less.

The week before the PSATs were being administered, Stan did what he should have done in the first place and cornered Kyle in the parking lot. Instead of sleeping under the tree like he usually did during his free period, he'd staked out Kyle's car and waited until he caught sight of that unruly mop of red curls before striking.

He caught Kyle around the waist from behind, rested his chin on Kyle's shoulder, and said ominously, "You're really going to get it now, Jew-boy."

"Ugh, Cartman, I've told a million times: I'm with Stan now." Kyle sighed in an extremely put-upon manner before Stan had him turned around and pulled in close. "Oh, Stan, it's you."

Stan rested his forehead against Kyle's, his entire body radiating with the warmth from that single point of contact. It was always like that with Kyle, but it was the first time Stan had ever thought of it as any more than sharing body heat.

"That was too sick to be funny, dude. If Cartman's been hitting on you, I want to know."

"Believe me, if Cartman had been hitting on me, you'd know because I'd be constantly throwing up." Kyle reached behind him, pried Stan's hands loose, and opened the car. "Well, see you tomorrow."

"Kyle."

"Stan, the PSATs are in a week and I really need to—"

Stan pressed his hand against the car door to keep Kyle from opening it, trapping him there. He could see Kyle's face reflected against the car window, feel the way he shuddered with each exhale. It took him only a moment to draw a conclusion.

"Kyle… are you afraid of me?" Stan stepped back until he was completely out of Kyle's personal bubble, feeling the loss already. "Because if this is making you uncomfortable, we can just put a stop to it right—"

"No!" Kyle stunned him by shouting. "I mean, no. No, of course not. Dude, I really just have been busy not… whatever it is you think I've been doing or feeling. I can take a break for a day, I guess. Get in."

Stan watched Kyle's face for any sign of deception, but found nothing but the worry that had been present ever since the start of junior year. He smiled. "You do work too hard sometimes, dude, you gotta admit."

Kyle returned the smile and climbed into the car.

The ride to Kyle's house was only slightly awkward, mostly because Kyle did not seem to be very interested in conversation. He replied in single syllables to every stab Stan made at speaking to him and even those syllables were of the distracted variety. By the time they pulled up in the Broflovski driveway, Stan got the distinct feeling he was being ignored but no idea what he was being ignored _for_.

The house was empty. Sheila had dragged Gerald off to Washington to protest some bill or another and Ike wouldn't be back from Mathletes for another two hours, leaving Stan and Kyle plenty of time talk. Or _not_ talk, as Kyle seemed more interested in doing.

Stan threw himself on the couch and wondered why dating Kyle was so much more complicated than everyone had made it out to be. Maybe it was him. Maybe he was being a bad boyfriend. He didn't exactly have a lot of experience with being a _good_ boyfriend considering he'd spent most of his relationship with Wendy vomiting on her. He'd never had the urge to vomit on Kyle before. Maybe that was making all the difference.

Kyle brought him a soda from the kitchen and took a seat. "We need to talk."

"Are you breaking up with me already?"

"Stan, I'm being serious." Kyle sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How… how far are you really willing to take this? Because it's one thing to say we're dating a completely different thing to actually be dating. What are the boundaries?"

"I don't know, dude. All the boundaries in a regular relationship except… more gay. We're both novices at that." Stan popped open his soda. "At least, I am."

"Ha-ha, funny. You really want to just jump right into it? No baby steps?"

"I don't see any other way for this to work."

"Are you _sure_?"

"Kyle, now you're the one pussy-footing around this. If you don't want to do this, you could just say so and we'd—_mmph!_"

It was… weird. Stan imagined his first time kissing Kyle would be—well, okay, to be honest, he'd never imagined kissing Kyle. Kyle wasn't like a brother to him and he was more than just a friend, but Stan had never even considered blurring that line between super best friends and boyfriends until now. Kyle's lips were surprisingly soft for a guy's, but that was really all Stan had time to notice before the sensation was gone.

"Was that okay?" Kyle whispered, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Stan's eyes followed the trail with an unusual amount of curiosity. "We could stop."

This time, Stan noticed that Kyle tasted like apple juice because if there was one thing Stan could do right, it was kiss. His tongue traced Kyle's lower lip, then his upper lip, then slid through the hole between them to explore what lay beyond. It had just felt weird before—weird to do _and_ weird to think about—but then Kyle tilted his head and the tip of Kyle's tongue slid along the length of his and Stan found a groan working its way past his lips before he could stop it. His hands came up to cup Kyle's face and keep him steady while he deepened the kiss, his breath getting shallower and shallower with each passing second.

It was Kyle. _Kyle_ his best friend since forever and for forever, Kyle who was clinging to his arms and opening his mouth even wider, giving everything Stan was asking for and more. Stan had to break away for air even sooner than he'd anticipated and even then he couldn't seem to stop touching Kyle. The fingers of one hand tangled in Kyle's wild hair while the other stroked along Kyle's cheek.

"See," he panted. "This is exactly what I'm talking. This is what we could have been doing."

"Shut up," was Kyle's response before diving in for another kiss.

This time, he not only clung to Stan's arms, but pulled him forward as well until Stan was straddling him on the couch. Distantly, Stan could register something hard pressing against his thigh but it was hard to think too hard about anything with Kyle moaning and moving against him like that.

Kissing Wendy had never been like _this_. Instead of softness and curves, he felt hardness and a lanky frame. Instead of long, scented hair, his fingers were clutching a frizzy, curly afro that was probably in need of a wash. Instead of soft lips decorated with some fruity lip gloss, he was kissing—he was kissing _Kyle_. It was different, but who was to say it was in a bad way?

Stan had no doubt that he could have gone on kissing Kyle for however long it took him to figure out whether or not he really liked it, but they were inevitably interrupted by the sound of an opening door. Stan pulled away much more slowly than he should have, pressing another kiss to Kyle's forehead before getting up to see who had come in.

Ike Broflovski stared smugly at him. "I fucking told you they were fucking."

Fillmore rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you fucking did. I'll pay you tomorrow, genius."

Ike let Fillmore scurry upstairs while he shut the door and continued to smirk at them. Stan helped Kyle up and got to his feet, wondering if he should try to explain the situation or if he should just let Ike collect however much money he'd been betting on them. He didn't see much reason not to.

"How did you get home, Ike?" Kyle asked breathlessly, checking the clock. "I'm not supposed to pick you up for—oh. Oh, shit, dude."

"Yeah, 'shit, dude'. Meanwhile, Fillmore's mom dropped me off when she saw me sitting forlornly in a corner whining about how my family doesn't love me anymore. Another thing to add to the list of things I won't tell Mom unless it's convenient for me." Ike's eyes darted meaningfully between them. "Along with this."

"Go to your room, Ike."

"Be gentle with him, Stan. He's been circumcised."

"Ike!"

"I'm going, I'm going!"

Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose again while Ike cackled all the way up the stairs. Stan wrapped an arm around Kyle's shoulders.

"You might have noticed, but your brother's kind of growing up to be a turd."

Kyle groaned. "It may run in the family."

"No way," Stan grinned, kissing the corner of Kyle's mouth and getting a pleasant surprise when Kyle's cheeks flamed from the contact. "You're no turd. You're more like a giant douche."

"Awww," Kyle drawled sarcastically, but the blush he was sporting kind of ruined the effect.

Stan could still feel Kyle's lips moving against him a feeling that was, again, different but not necessarily bad. He'd never felt that after kissing Wendy. He'd just felt nauseous before and after.

"So…" he glanced around. "Want to study for the PSATs?"

Kyle laughed. "Yeah, sure."

x

"That went better than expected," Wendy said as she, Kyle, Butters, and Bebe waited for their rides. Stan's room hadn't gotten out yet and Cartman's room had, mercifully, been let out too early for him to be waiting with them. Kenny, on the other hand, hadn't bothered to show up at all. "I expected it to be harder."

"That might be because we studied so much I started dreaming about pie charts and scantrons," Bebe said, shaking some snow off her boots. "I can't imagine what I'll dream about when the SATs roll around. This totally calls for some kind of party."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "You _would_ be thinking about parties, Bebe. Like anyone's in the mood to party until we get the results."

Bebe bit her lip and fell silent. Wendy jabbed Kyle in the ribs, but, like a typical guy, he completely missed the clue.

She sighed and turned her attention to Butters, who hadn't said a word all morning. "You okay?"

"O-Oh, I'm alright," Butters managed around a sigh of his own. "It's just that Kenny didn't come today. I don't suppose he could have taken the test somewhere else?"

Wendy shook her head. "I wouldn't count on it. I haven't seen him crack open a book all month. Hell, I haven't seen him at school all month, period."

"I've seen him." Butters toed at the ground with his sneakers. "Sometimes."

"School has never really been Kenny's thing," Kyle said, trying for comforting and landing somewhere between painfully kind and gently blunt. "We used to think sometimes that he'd rather die—literally—than go."

"Eric k-killed him off last week, but, shucks, it never takes Kenny this long to come back."

"He's probably just cutting school again, Butters. I can drive you by his house later, if you want?"

"N-Nah, I'd… I'd probably just bother him and I don't want him sore at me or nothing."

"You'd have to pry his eyes off your ass first," Bebe muttered.

"What? I'ah didn't catch that."

"I _said_ I'm sure he'd be glad to see you."

Butters stared at his feet. "No, I… I'd better just go on home. I'll see him at school."

Wendy's parents pulled up and she and Bebe threw their stuff into the trunk. Bebe climbed into the car, but Wendy paused long enough to ask, "Are you sure you'll be alright, Butters? You look really down?"

"It's nothing," Butters insisted though he still wouldn't look up. "I-I'll be fine."

Wendy gave Kyle a look and received an eye roll in return, then climbed into the car. Bebe was trying to catch discreet glances of Kyle through the back window, which was either pathetic or sweet depending on how you looked at it. Wendy wanted to think it was sweet, but considering that Kyle wouldn't look twice at Bebe anymore and Bebe knew it, it was really kind of pathetic. She really hoped she'd never act that way over some boy.

Which, of course, was when her phone decided to buzz with an incoming message. Wendy flipped it open, scowling at the name, then pressed VIEW MESSAGE.

_If getting into Harvard was as easy as that test, I'll see you in the morning classes, ho._

Wendy seriously regretted handing out her number during that group assignment in freshman year. She really, really did.

_Leave me alone, fatass. You're not getting into Harvard!_

The response came before she'd even shut her phone.

_We'll see about that._

Followed by another, more succinct text:

_Bitch_.

Wendy put her phone into her bag and sat up in her seat. If Eric Cartman was trying to bait her, it was working. She _would_ get into Harvard and he _wouldn't_. Those were the terms and she wasn't willing to settle.

"You've got your game face on," Bebe noted from the backseat. "We're not going to a rally, are we? These jeans aren't rally jeans."

"We're not going to a rally," Wendy promised. "Not now, anyway."

x

By the time Halloween rolled around, Kyle had learned two things. The first thing he'd learned was that Butters was a whiny bitch when he wanted to be. He'd known it before because no kid with a low tolerance for whining could worry that much about being grounded, but that had been before Butters had had actual friends. Now that he was friends with Kenny, all he did was whine about Kenny and with Kenny only coming to school an average of three days a week, that was a hell of a lot of whining.

The second thing he had learned was that Stan had very sensitive ears. If Kyle kissed on or around Stan's ears, he was rewarded with a deep groan, a full body shudder and, if he was really lucky, an involuntary hip grind.

He wasn't sure if Stan was getting the same thing out of their makeout sessions that Kyle was, but he did know that Stan was really, _really_ good at it. He had Kyle's head spinning with something as simple as a kiss to the cheek. Kyle just plain lost his mind when Stan's tongue found its way into his mouth. He'd been worried before, but, damn, dating was the best thing that had ever happened to him in the history of forever.

But, then again, he wasn't the one that needed convincing. Absent and perverted though he was, Kenny had had a point. This could all be over in a nanosecond if he couldn't convince _Stan_ that this dating thing was a good idea. If it was this good with one active participant, Kyle couldn't imagine how good it would feel if Stan returned his less than friendly feelings.

That was the problem, though. How could he make Stan like him? Stan already liked him, of course, but getting Stan to _like_ him was a bigger challenge. When Kyle looked at Stan, he saw a gorgeous sixteen year old boy with unruly raven black hair, warm blue eyes, and a lithe, athletic body to die for. When he hung out with Stan, Kyle was privy to the thoughts and mannerisms of one of the most practical, intelligent, and sensitive people he'd ever known. And when he spoke to Stan, he was often surprised by just how perfect Stan was. For Kyle and in general.

On the other hand, when Kyle looked in the mirror, he saw a scrawny, pale Jew with a monstrous red 'fro and brown eyes with permanent bags. His default mood setting was bitchy and when he wasn't bitchy he was surly and when he wasn't surly he was just plain elitist. He hated most of the people they knew which, admittedly, was not all that bad since those same people hated him, too, but he was less likely than Stan was to help them out of a jam. And when he spoke to Stan, he was always aware of how damn _snobby_ he sounded, like he was so much smarter than Stan because he took a couple APs and a few Honors courses.

He could hear himself doing it and yet he couldn't seem to stop himself from being, as Stan had said, a giant douche. He didn't understand why Stan was his friend, let alone why Stan would want to date him for real.

Stan came out of the kitchen with a giant bowl full of candy for the trick-or-treaters, most of which was being steadily consumed by the two of them and Ike, who had decided he was too old to go trick or treating around the same time he'd discovered girls.

They were watching the scariest movie of all time—Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull—which Kyle _still_ couldn't get through without sobbing while Sheila made pumpkin pie in the kitchen and Gerald sat outside on the lawn pretending to be a corpse to scare the little children.

All in all, a pretty run of the mill Halloween.

"I thought Cartman and Kenny and Butters were supposed to come over," Ike said, grabbing a handful of malted milk balls.

Stan ticked each person off on his fingers. "Cartman's busy dealing with the zombie Mexicans invading the town, Kenny's trick-or-treating for next month's dinner, and Butters is helping Cartman completely of his own free will."

"Zombie Mexicans," Sheila called from the kitchen, sounding exasperated. "I told the Mayor to bury them properly, but far be it for anyone to listen to me!"

The three boys exchanged glances and wisely put the movie on instead of making any smart remarks. Stan and Kyle sat on the couch with a respectable amount of distance between them while Ike sat at the floor at their feet, cradling the bowl of candy. The movie started and Kyle glanced over at Stan only to find Stan already looking at him.

"It's alright," Stan mouthed, reaching over to take Kyle's hand and give it a comforting squeeze. "We'll get through it together."

Which served to make Kyle feel better and worse. Because that was just one more reason why Stan was the most amazing person he knew and one less reason why Stan would ever be seriously interested in him.

Kyle wanted to kiss him, wanted to get as many kisses in as possible before Stan came to his senses and decided they were better off as friends, but he didn't dare risk it with his mother just a room away. He wished Kenny were here so he could get some more advice or even that Stan would just solve his problem and fall for him all on his own, without Kyle having to make any effort at all.

Life just didn't work that way. And if it did then Kyle's life just didn't work that way.

He returned the squeeze and turned back to the television, so deep in thought that he barely saw the images. Getting Stan to fall in love with him could be the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he had seen the light at the end of the tunnel and it was totally worth it to have this for the rest of his life.

Kyle snuck a peek at Stan once again, his resolve strengthening. He wanted to hold on to this feeling no matter what. Whatever it took, Stan would be his.

x

TO BE CONTINUED

x

**Author's Note:** I will never update this fast again, so enjoy it. I just really didn't want to study for my midterm. Thanks for the reviews thus far. More fun to come.


	3. November

**RED STRING**  
Author: the pink striper  
Rating: M for language and sexual humor/situations. And Kenny.  
Pairings: Stan/Kyle, Kenny/Butters, Cartman/Wendy, and other minor pairings.  
Summary: Stan Marsh has decided that he wants more out of his super best friendship with Kyle Broflovski. A lot more. What starts as a simple experiment quickly spirals out of control, which, in a town like South Park, is never a good thing. Meanwhile, Kenny McCormick decides that high school is a waste of his time, much to Butters Scotch's horror, and Eric Cartman decides to follow Wendy Testaburger to Harvard. Let the games begin.

x

"_I don't mean to run, but, every time you come around, I feel more alive than ever and I guess it's too much. Maybe we're too young and I don't even know what's real, but I know I've never wanted anything so bad. I've never wanted anyone so bad. Help me come back down from high above the clouds. You know I'm suffocating, but I blame this town. Why do I deny the things that burn inside down deep? I'm barely breathing, but you just see a smile. And I don't want to let this go."  
**-Adore by Paramore**_

x

**NOVEMBER**

x

Kenny McCormick was angry. No, not angry. He was royally pissed off. He searched through his locker for the fifth time, patted himself down for the fourteenth time, then gnashed his teeth together. Someone had taken all his cigarettes. All of them, gone with no warning. His hands were shaking, he was so angry. Angry or going through withdrawal. Same difference, really.

His first thought was that it had been Butters. Butters had been trying to get him to quit smoking since he'd first gotten his hands on a pack, but they had reached a compromise a while back. Kenny would try to light up less if Butters didn't try to force him into it. And no matter what anyone had to say about Butters, they couldn't deny that he knew how to honor a commitment.

But if it hadn't been Butters, then someone was going to die because Butters was the only one who could pull this shit and have even a remote chance of escaping unscathed.

Kenny slammed his locker shut, not even bothering to lock it as there was nothing in there period let alone anything worth stealing, and headed down the hallway with his hands deep in his pockets.

School was a lot more bearable now that the PSATs had passed. Now, instead of seeing kids in the hallways with their faces buried in prep books, he saw kids in the hallways playing PSP, texting their friends in class, and generally slacking off. It was refreshing. Kenny didn't fit in with the academic; he never had and he probably never would. They were lucky he showed up at all.

The door to the parking lot was within sight when a door opened to his left and a very dejected Bebe Stevens came out.

She looked him up and down and sighed. "Hey, stranger."

"Are you not wearing makeup?" Kenny asked, squinting at her. Either Bebe's face was unusually bare or she was wearing enough makeup to look extremely natural. He could never tell with girls. "Are you okay?"

Bebe sighed so heavily it was a wonder she didn't shake something loose. Kenny's eyes flickered to the exit, but he knew he wasn't going anywhere. Occasional liaisons aside, Bebe was kind of his friend and Kenny could never turn a back on a friend.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and leading her back into the classroom. It was empty, as he'd figured, except for Bebe's little pink bag and her homework assignments. Kenny sat her down in a chair, then grabbed another and sat on it backward, watching her intently. "What happened, Bebe?"

"Nothing," she insisted with a clear lack of enthusiasm. "I'm just waiting around for Wendy. We were supposed to be having a Future Democrats meeting and then Token came in asking to see her for a minute. And that was like an hour ago. Everyone else left."

And that was all she said. However, years of doing more listening than talking had given Kenny the ability to read between the lines.

"And that has something to do with why you're not wearing makeup?" It was phrased as a question, but it really wasn't. Bebe was so anal about her appearance that she took time off of school when she got a pimple. Kenny hadn't seen her without makeup since they were five.

Bebe lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I just… don't see the point today, that's all. Wendy seems to do just fine on nothing but some eyeliner and bubble gum lip-gloss. Why bother?"

"But Wendy isn't as attractive as you are."

"Ha. Tell that to your fellow sacks of testosterone. They seem to think she's fucking fantastic." Bebe ran her fingers through her frizzy hair, groaning. "This is so stupid. Why does all the good stuff happen to the people who _don't_ want it? When Wendy comes to school with her cheap clothes, lack of makeup, and love of learning, she gets respect and boys chasing her tail. When I come to school with my designer clothes, Maybelline, and love of boys, I get called a slut just because I want a degree _and_ a good time. What the hell?"

"Bebe, you are not a slut," Kenny said flatly. "Ask me what I was doing in the reference section of the library half an hour ago _then_ try and tell me you're the slut. At least you can do something with your life. My life is so worthless it gets taken away from me on a weekly basis and, when I _am_ alive, all I do is fuck up anything good I've got going for me."

She cracked a humorless smile. "Aren't we a matched set? I spend all my time hating Wendy and you spend all your time hating yourself."

"Mhmm."

They lapsed into a pensive silence, Kenny resting his chin on the back of the chair and staring down his own personal demons, Bebe chewing idly on a hangnail. Then, she gasped lightly as something occurred to her.

"Hey, at least you've got Butters. I mean, you've got Stan and Kyle and Cartman, too, I guess, but you spend the most time with Butters and you haven't managed to mess that up yet." She reached over and ran a comforting hand along his cheek. "So, cheer the fuck up."

Kenny tried to look as though that had made him feel better, not worse. Smiling was a little beyond him at the moment so he went with the one thing he did best. His hand came up to cover hers and he let his eyes darken with dirty promises.

"You know what will really cheer me the _fuck_ up?" he murmured, putting emphasis on the important word there.

Bebe looked surprised for all of five seconds before the same misery that had been present before their talk took over instead. Kenny felt a wave of guilt under the usual self-loathing, but he still drew her in and covered her lips with his. Bebe responded—she always responded—but Kenny knew that with every shaky inhale she was hating herself first and him second.

However, she could never hate him even half as much as he hated himself.

x

On the concrete between the emergency exit and the dumpster, Butters Scotch was trying not to wheeze. He didn't know if it was his nature or his body's stubborn refusal to let him pollute it, but he just could never seem to get the hang of smoking.

He was wearing his gym clothes because if his parents caught him coming home smelling like smoke, they'd ground him, whether he told them it was because he'd been hanging out with Kenny or not. His other clothes were in a duffel bag at his feet, safely out of the way of the cigarette between his fingers.

On the other side of the emergency exit, Cartman blew out a cloud of smoke and squinted at him. "You are the only person I know who can still look like a pussy with a cigarette in their mouth, Butters."

"I'ah may be a pussy, but at least I-I can get Wendy Testaburger to talk to me without hollering," Butters replied, taking another drag of his cigarette and coughing it back out.

Cartman was silent for a moment. "I hate you, Butters."

"I know you do, Eric."

Three drags later, Cartman cursed.

"Why the hell does she hate me so much anyway? It's not like I'm doing all the same shit I used to. I haven't attempted genocide in almost…" A pause. "Nevermind."

"Maybe, and this is just an idea, Eric, but just maybe you oughta stop trying to exterminate whole races of people. Work your way down to single murders."

"Do you really think that would work? I mean I—" Cartman's eyes narrowed. "Are you making fun of me, asshole?"

Butters coughed. "Only a little."

Cartman looked for a second like he might go through all the trouble of getting up to punch Butters in the ribcage, then tossed his cigarette on the ground and put it out with his heel instead. Butters watched the end of his cigarette burn, wondering why he even tried to pretend he was badass when he knew that Cartman only hung out with him because he was innocent. Not so gullible anymore, but innocent. Nothing Eric Cartman loved more (besides other people's misery) than manipulating the innocent.

The clacking of heels announced the presence of Wendy Testaburger herself. She took a moment to assess the situation then snatched the cigarette out of Butters' hand as she passed and took a seat against the emergency exit. Butters watched her snub it out indifferently. He hadn't been making much progress in smoking it anyway.

"What's the matter, Wendy?" he asked, hoping she hadn't noticed Cartman yet. She seemed upset enough already.

"I just missed my Future Democrats meeting because Token Black won't take no for an answer." She sighed. "I finally got fed up and told him I'd think about it, but by the time I got back to the classroom, everyone was gone. God, no means no."

"Token really likes you," Butters felt the need to mention because Token was his friend, too.

Wendy gave him a baleful look.

"W-Well, he does…"

"Know what I think?" Cartman spoke up in a low voice. "I think Token just got dumped by Anne and is scouting for a new girlfriend to keep his parents impressed enough to let him cash in on his trust fund when he hits eighteen."

Wendy pressed her forehead against her drawn-in knees. "I know! I was _just_ talking to Anne about it at lunch today."

"You can do better than some black asshole who wants arm candy."

"I _know_."

"But, ah, Token's a nice guy," Butters interrupted because Token was still his friend, too. "And he's had a thing for you for awhile, Wendy. I-It's pretty bad timing, but I think he really wants you to be his girlfriend."

"And he's rich and smart," Wendy agreed easily, not lifting her head. "And polite and doesn't do stupid shit like all the other guys at this school. No offense, Butters."

"None taken."

"He's exactly the kind of guy I _should_ like. Exactly the kind of guy I _should_ want."

"But he's _black_," Cartman said disgustedly, as though that made all the difference. "Let him fool around with the bass guitar in his basement if he wants some action. This isn't much of a step up from the Jew."

"I-I didn't know you and Kyle had been dating, Wendy. When did you break up? He did seem awful upset last month…"

"Kyle and I were never together. Cartman's just being a dick."

"_I'm_ being a dick? At least when I ask a girl out, it's because I like her not because I'm using her as a tool for financial advancement when I'm already so rich I might as well be Jewish."

Wendy's shoulders began to shake. Butters was concerned for a moment before he realized that she was laughing. She clamped her hand tightly over her mouth to stifle it, but the attempt was unsuccessful. Beyond her, Butters could see Cartman shifting uncomfortably, likely because this was the longest conversation he and Wendy had ever had without screaming.

Butters smiled. Everyone deserved to have something good happen to them every once in awhile, even if that person was Eric Cartman.

"Be that as it may," Wendy said once she'd gotten herself back under control. "Token's an okay guy. Maybe I'm just too judgmental. There's nothing really wrong with settling, is there?"

"What are you? Some kind of saint?" Cartman's voice became higher in a sorry attempt at mocking Wendy's. "'He's not _that_ bad so let me grace him with my presence but not my affections because I'm _such_ a good person.' No guy wants a girl who's only with him because she thinks she can't do better so don't think you're doing Token any favors."

"That's not even—I wouldn't—"

"You better not. Because my opinion of you _can_ get lower, ho."

Wendy hoisted herself to her feet and dusted off the back of her pants. "I'll see you in class tomorrow, Butters. Bebe and Kenny have _got_ to be done by now." Her eyes flashed to Cartman briefly. "Fuck you with an iron pole, fatass."

Butters waited until the sound of her heels had faded away before turning to Cartman.

"I'ah hope you saw what you did wrong there."

Cartman sniffed and got to his feet. "Baby steps, Butters. Baby steps."

He strolled away with his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets, leaving Butters alone with his thoughts and a half-empty pack of Camels he didn't feel like reaching for. He tilted his head back against the brick wall and sighed, his mood plummeting as he thought of what Kenny and Bebe had probably been doing in that classroom. Kenny was his friend—and nothing else—and friends were supposed to be happy when other friends got laid. Butters knew that. And yet he just felt _awful_.

But, he reflected as he stared up at the sky, everyone had their problems. At least he and all his friends were healthy and relatively well-taken care of. Just because he was a little oversensitive right now didn't mean that he should stop thinking about the homeless or the ill or the poor children living in third-world countries. They had bigger problems. They didn't have time to worry who their _friends_ were having sex with (or not).

He wasn't making himself feel any better.

Butters was five seconds away from reaching for another cigarette just to have something to do when Kenny himself made an appearance, his eyes finding first Butters, then the Camels. Ignoring the obvious, which was too far-fetched for him, he grabbed the pack, then sat down and rested his head on Butters' shoulder.

Butters smelled like smoke, but Kenny always smelled like smoke so he never noticed. Kenny also stank like sex and Bebe's perfume. Something in Butters' chest tightened until he realized that Kenny was shaking against him.

"Hey," Butters shifted until he could see messy tufts of corn yellow hair. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Kenny said, his voice muffled by Butters' shoulder. "Everything. Fuck, I don't know."

"D-Do you wanna talk about it?"

Kenny lifted his head, pale blue eyes staring right through him. Then, with a world-weary sigh, he shook his head. "Let's just get out of here. My place first. I need a shower."

Despite his words, Kenny didn't stop staring at him and Butters grew increasingly uncomfortable as the minutes ticked by. He felt a little too exposed, a little too raw, and a little too high on nicotine. He turned away before he could do something he'd regret.

"A-Alright, then. Let's go."

x

"_Oh, god_."

Kyle tilted his head back and gasped, feeling about ready to explode. Between Stan's hands on his ass keeping their hips lined up just right and Stan's mouth sucking, biting, and kissing every unmarked inch of his neck, Kyle had pretty much been reduced to communicating in a series of gasps and harsh, almost pained sounding moans. His hands were gripping the material of Stan's shirt so tightly it was a wonder he hadn't ripped it yet and his lips were tingling with a desire, a _need_, to be attached to Stan's again.

And to think he'd wanted to spend his Saturday afternoon studying. Chebyshev's theorem had _nothing_ on this.

"St-Stan…"

Kyle's hands slipped from Stan's back to his arms, holding on tight as Stan moved up to kiss him again, his tongue stroking against Kyle's and making Kyle's toes curl. He moaned, hips twitching against Stan's, which caused a spark of pleasure to shoot up his spine. Stan's groan was muffled against Kyle's mouth, but then, _yes_, his hips began rubbing shamelessly against Kyle's in all the right ways.

Kyle felt dizzy, breathless, his world made up of nothing more than Stan and the wonderful things that Stan was doing. No wonder the French called this 'the little death' because he _did_ feel like he was dying, so overwhelmed with sensation and emotion that it was almost too much.

"_Fuck_, Kyle…"

"Nggh."

One of Stan's hands slid up under his shirt to stroke the small of his back, and Kyle shuddered, one leg wrapping around Stan's waist. He was distracted for more than a few minutes by just how much _better_ things felt in this position before he regained control of his senses and lurched upward, forcing Stan over and onto his back while Kyle straddled his hips.

Stan's hair was a sweaty mess, sticking to his forehead in clumps, and his face was red from exertion. His chest heaved up and down as he tried and failed to regulate his breathing and his clothes were in such a state of disarray that even a retarded blind girl would have no trouble pinpointing what he'd been up to. Kyle noted all of this with a sense of pride and fondness he knew was entirely out of place here. _He_ was the one who had been dreaming of this for years. Stan was just horny.

"Kyle… come here," Stan said, voice raw and husky and sending a thrill through Kyle before he leaned down and kissed his so-called boyfriend chastely.

Stan grunted his disapproval of this sudden switch in the mood, but Kyle simply continued to give him kiss after soft kiss until Stan relaxed into the mattress and sighed in contentment. His arms wrapped around Kyle's waist, Kyle's hands against his chest, and the white-hot heat he had been feeling earlier ebbed into a more comfortable and leisurely warmth. He hoped Stan was feeling the same way. God, he hoped Stan was feeling the same way.

Kyle sat up again, one shaking hand tracing the line of Stan's jaw, the curve of his cheek, inching into his hair and gripping a fistful. Stan stared up at him, blue eyes huge and full of questions Kyle never wanted to answer. With a sigh, Kyle let go, pried Stan's hands off his waist, and climbed out of the bed. He could feel Stan's eyes on him as he unlocked his bedroom door and then walked over to the desk, but he wasn't about to explain himself and Stan knew him a little too well to ask him to.

He took out his homework, trying to ignore the fact that he could still taste Stan on his lips and seeing Stan fall back on the bed and throw an arm over his eyes. An alarmingly huge part of Kyle wanted to go back over there, rip his clothes off, and say, "Have me," but the rational side, the side that was hopelessly in love with Stan but knew that Stan couldn't brag the same thing, knew that he didn't want to have sex with Stan knowing it was just a social experiment.

Stan exhaled slowly, then removed his arm. "There's a festival in Middle Park next weekend."

"So?"

"So I might be interested in going."

"…so?"

Stan pushed himself out of bed and crossed the room, leaning against Kyle's desk and staring down at him meaningfully. "So I'm more interested in going with you. My boyfriend. Like on a date."

Kyle stared at him blankly.

"I'm asking you out, asshole. I know you can hear me."

Kyle could hear the words that Stan was saying, but his mind was not making the appropriate connections. A date. Him and Stan on a date. A _date_. And, what's more, a date in Middle Park, where he didn't constantly have to worry about running into Cartman and his barrage of fag and Jew jokes. Where he didn't have to worry about anything except…

"Kyle!"

"What? Oh. No, yeah, I—That sounds great," Kyle smiled so brightly he nearly pulled something. "Dude, you have no idea how great that sounds."

Stan huffed out a laugh, running his fingers through his hair and grinning. "Good. It's a date."

x

"You know, it's your fault I'm bisexual," Kenny said conversationally from somewhere near Stan's naval. "After my balls dropped and I broke up with Anne, you were the first guy I wanted to fuck."

Stan, lying on his back with his arms behind his head and staring pensively at the ceiling, wrinkled his nose. "Sick, dude. We can't do this anymore if you start saying shit like that."

"Why?" Kenny leered, reaching under Stan's shirt to fondle his belly button. "Because you have a _boyfriend_ now?"

Stan kicked Kenny off the bed and sighed. Kenny didn't like to say it, but he was an absolute leech for physical contact. When he was happy, he was having as much sex as possible. When he was upset, he liked to work it out by cuddling. Stan was a closet fan of cuddling, too, but of the platonic kind. It didn't work if Kenny couldn't keep his damn hands to himself.

Kenny sat up on the floor, resting his chin on the edge of the bed and watching Stan warily. "Trouble in paradise? Already?"

"No." Stan continued to stare at the ceiling for a moment, then rolled onto his side and met Kenny's gaze. "Kyle told you everything, didn't he?"

"Define 'everything'…"

"Kenny."

"Yeah, everything." Kenny admitted. "What are you trying to accomplish with this, Stan? All this time you and Kyle are wasting dating each other as friends could be better spent with people you're actually in love with, and vice versa. Plus, if you just wanted to fuck a friend, I am _so_ available."

"Upstairs brain, please, Kenny. Besides, I wouldn't do that to Butters."

"Think about what you're doing to my blue balls."

"_Kenny_."

"Fine, fine." Kenny climbed back onto the bed, sitting with his legs folded under him and a look of honest curiosity on his face. "So, what's going on with you, dude?"

Stan frowned. "Nothing! I like Kyle. I've been with Kyle since we were in diapers and we've done everything together. We got potty trained together, learned how to read together, went to school together, grew up together… why can't we do this together, too? I mean, don't people always say that your lover should also be your best friend?"

"Yeah, but most people don't try to _make_ it true. Sometimes in life you luck out and your best friend and your lover end up being the same person, which is awesome, but you can't force yourself to love someone."

"I love Kyle."

"Not in the way you're acting. Not in the way you should to be dating him."

Stan knew that Kenny had a point, but he refused to acknowledge it. His frown deepened and he rolled back onto his back, trying to work out an argument in his head that would convince Kenny that what he was doing made sense. It made perfect sense to _him_.

"Can't you learn to love someone, though?" he finally asked. "Kyle is all the things I'm usually attracted to. He's smart, outspoken, and opinionated with a strong sense of morals and a great sense of humor…"

"Dude, I hate to be the one to tell you this, Kyle is _not_ Wendy."

"I know that!"

"Do you really?"

"And, anyway, that's why this relationship has half a chance of working! Wendy and I were all wrong for each other but Kyle and I already have the kind of connection people fucking dream about! We should have been dating forever ago!"

"And you know why you weren't? Because you're NOT IN LOVE."

"Like you're one to talk!" Stan exploded, cheeks flushed with shame and anger. "When have you ever been in love with anyone? When have you ever made a connection with _anyone_? Butters wants you so bad he makes everyone around him have a boner for you, too, and instead you're screwing around with people in semi-public areas and taking advantage of him!"

Kenny's entire face darkened. "You don't know shit about me and Butters."

"You can't _not_ have noticed the way he looks at you."

"Shut up, Stan."

The anger in Stan had deflated and now he was just concerned for his friend. Because Butters _was_ his friend, even though Stan still couldn't stand to be around him sometimes because he was still a total Melvin, and Kenny was his friend, even though he did stupid things sometimes. And this was by far the stupidest.

"You're his whole world, Kenny," Stan said softly, reaching out to rest a hand on Kenny's knee. "If you don't like him, that's okay, but you could at least stop throwing your partners in his face. We can't help who we love… or don't love, I guess."

Kenny laughed, an ugly, bitter sound. "You think I don't like Butters? You really think that?"

"Kenny—"

"You… are _so_ far off the mark it's not even—" Kenny made that sound again. "If I don't like Butters, it's only because I'm so in love with him that 'like' is an insult to what I'm feeling. I love him so much it fucking _burns_ being around him sometimes."

Stan shifted until he was sitting up, his back against the headboard. "I don't understand."

"Remember how Butters and I used to go out?" Kenny asked quietly, eyes glued to the bed sheets. "I think it was freshman year?"

"Yeah and then you dumped him sometime over the summer before sophomore year for some reason you never fully explained to us."

"That's the thing. I didn't dump him. _Butters_ broke up with _me_."

Stan blinked, trying to wrap his mind around this information. It seemed incredibly unlikely. As a matter of fact, considering how Butters acted whenever Kenny so much as inhaled, it seemed downright impossible.

"No way, dude."

"I was there. Trust me, he did the dumping. He said things weren't working out the way he'd thought they would and he'd be 'awful sorry' if this had a detrimental effect on our friendship. I tried asking him why a million times, but he'd just start rubbing his knuckles together and change the subject." Kenny shrugged with a semblance of indifference, but it was obvious from the way he kept picking at the sheets that he wasn't even remotely indifferent to the topic. "So, if you don't mind, I'll sleep with however many people I want because Butters could have me any damn time he wants. He just… doesn't want me." Kenny lifted his head, staring at Stan with the most heartbreaking expression he had ever seen. "Why doesn't he want me?"

Stan wisely didn't answer.

Kenny inhaled shakily, then searched his pockets and pulled out a cigarette and his lighter. Stan watched him move over to the window and light up, then fell back on the bed again.

"So," he said after a considerable silence. "You think I should call off my date with Kyle?"

Kenny gave him a wry smile over his shoulder. "I think you should have fun on your date, but try to remember how easily this could all go sideways. Like, for example, if one of you falls in love around the same time the other one decides this isn't working out."

Stan returned the smile then returned to staring at the ceiling.

"Remember when our biggest problem was…" he paused. "Okay, nevermind. This is pretty tame by comparison."

This time when Kenny laughed it was genuine.

x

"So, I was thinking," Cartman announced loudly Monday morning, leaning against the locker next to Kyle's. "Over Thanksgiving break, I should totally go to Mexico."

Kyle closed his locker with an irritated sigh. "Why?"

"Well, think about it. I put down a truck load of zombie Mexicans last month, right?" Cartman continued, voice rising even further in volume. "So they _owe_ me for cleaning up their mess. Which means I _own_ them. Which means this conversation is all time I could be spending declaring myself supreme ruler of Mexico."

"No," Kyle said firmly although he really should have seen something like this coming. Cartman had converted to Judaism the year before just to get his hands on some Jew gold of his own and had ended up the rabbi of his own Temple. This was almost beneath him. "No, you're not doing that."

Cartman scoffed. "As if I give a rat's ass what you think, Jew. I'm going to Mexico on Friday and there's nothing you can do about it." And then, because Cartman had not matured one bit, "Na na na na _na_ na! I'm going to Mexico and you can't stop me! Heh heh heh heh _heh_ heh!"

"Friday?" Kyle repeated as Cartman strolled away, shoulders slumping. Because of _course_ Cartman would decide to declare himself supreme ruler of Mexico the same weekend that Kyle was supposed to be in Middle Park on a date with Stan. And _of course_ it had to be Kyle's responsibility to stop him because everyone else just accepted that Cartman was Cartman and trying to change him or stop him was futile. Because _of course_ no one else seemed to realize that it was exactly that kind of attitude that allowed people like Cartman to even exist in the first place. "Godammit!"

Kyle punched the locker, ignoring the stinging pain in his knuckles, and wondered if Mexico would _really_ suffer all that much if he just snuck off to Middle Park instead…

"Hey," Wendy said as she came up beside him, a stack of books in her arms. "You look pissed off. What did Cartman do now?"

A bit of the anger ebbed away at the understanding in her voice. Kyle and Wendy were a united front when it came to the hatred of Eric Cartman, amongst other things. If she hadn't had cooties when they were younger or been the cause of Stan's consistent abandonment of him, they could have been hanging out much earlier.

"The stupid fatass is going to Mexico to blackmail the people into making him their leader," Kyle grumbled. "They'll be respecting his 'authoritah' right up until he has them all gassed for not working hard enough on his homework

"But you're going to stop him right?"

"Well, yeah." He paused. "Well, actually…" Another pause. "I have this… It's just that… um…"

"Kyle!"

"Well, I—Stan asked me on our first date this weekend," Kyle said sheepishly. "And what am I supposed to say? 'Sorry, I'll be in Mexico with Cartman'? That's fucking weak, Wendy."

"You're going to let Cartman virtually enslave the country of Mexico so you can _get some from your boyfriend_?" The outrage in her voice had the desired effect of making Kyle feel like _he_ was the asshole in this situation. "Are you serious, Kyle?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and didn't answer.

"For some reason, I kind of thought you were different from the other guys," Wendy adjusted the books in her arms and got up on her soapbox. "_But_ since you've proved yourself capable of only thinking with your dick, I guess _I'll_ have to be the one to stop Cartman because I consider the liberation of the Mexicans to be just a _little_ bit more important than poontang!"

Chastened, Kyle scratched the back of his head. "I, um… I probably won't be putting out?"

"Good. Stan's a horrible lay." Wendy glanced up and down the hallway until she caught sight of Cartman disappearing around a corner, then she returned her gaze to a very fidgety Kyle. "Stop worrying about it. I'm not mad at _you_. I've lost a little respect for you, but we're still friends and I'll take care of it."

"No, it's not that. When… when did you and Stan ever…?"

"Have sex? When we were eight."

"…how is that even possible?"

"In case you didn't notice, Kyle, we did _everything_ when we were eight." Wendy checked her watch just in time for the bell to ring then smiled brightly. "Well, I'm off to another day of learning. Have fun on your date!"

Kyle watched her disappear into the growing crowd of students on their way to homeroom, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat.

"_Eight?"_ He mouthed to himself, pulling his backpack strap up on his shoulder and merging with the crowd.

x

Lunchtime typically went like this: Stan would sit next to Kyle who would sit next to Kenny on one side of the table and Kenny would alternate between hitting on Stan and hitting on Kyle while Stan ignored him and Kyle did his homework. On the other side of the table, Cartman would sit next to Wendy who would sit next to Butters and Cartman and Wendy would bicker and argue, occasionally joined by Kyle, until Wendy, too, began to ignore him in favor of homework. Butters, on the other hand, would just sit quietly and try to get through his meal without incident.

That was typical lunch, the kind of lunch Butters had been accustomed to _before_ Stan and Kyle had started dating. Now, Kyle was doing his homework while Stan watched with one arm thrown around Kyle's shoulder and Kenny was absent from the table all together. Cartman had a bunch of figures from the board game _Risk_ spread out on what appeared to be a map of Mexico and Wendy was sitting with her forehead pressed against her folded arms, in the throes of teenage angst.

Butters, the only one who bothered to remain consistent, glanced around the table for a moment before asking brightly, "S-So what's everybody doing for Thanksgiving?"

Cartman was the first to respond. "I'll be staging a hostile takeover of Mexico starting this Friday. I'll be gone straight through Thanksgiving break."

"You? Missing Thanksgiving?" Kyle taunted. "That's a step up for you, lardbutt. Are you feeling okay?"

"Fuck you, Kyle," Cartman said smoothly, not looking up from his map.

Wendy mumbled something into her arms and groaned again. Butters didn't bother to ask her to repeat herself, instead turning the question on Stan and Kyle. "How about you, fellas?"

"Stan and I always spend Thanksgiving together. It's kind of a tradition. Also, his mom makes the best stuffing."

"And Kyle's mom makes the best pie, so this way, we both win."

"Oh, I-I see." Butters rested his chin up with his hand and stared at Kenny's empty seat. "I was thinking maybe I'd invite Kenny over to my house for dinner, but I'ah notice he's a little busy not being here again."

Stan and Kyle exchanged glances. Kyle went back to his homework. Stan attempted a smile.

"Well, Kenny's attendance record _is_ spotty at best. It'd be more of a surprise to see him here than to…" He cleared his throat when Butters' expression didn't change. "Hey, look, I'm sure Kenny's just out sick or something. Don't worry about it."

"How am I supposed to not worry about it? If he's absent so much, he's going to fail junior year."

"I don't know what you fags are getting so worked up about," Cartman snorted, pushing the little figures off the table and into his bag and rolling up the map. "That poor piece of crap dropped out of school last week."

Wendy lifted her head to join the boys in staring at him.

"What?" Butters managed around the rising dread he could feel in his chest.

"Kenny. Dropped out of school. Last week. Am I speaking in tongues or something? Geez."

"I can't believe this," Wendy said disapprovingly. "How can Kenny have just dropped out?"

"Hey, it's about time. Now he can stop infecting us all with his ghetto germs and his family can move up to eating rice cakes for dinner instead of pop tarts. Maybe one day, they might be able to afford cereal."

Kyle slammed his book shut and glared. "Kenny dropped out of school and you knew and you didn't tell us?"

"I hate you guys." Cartman said as though it should be obvious. "And Kenny didn't want his girlfriend," he jerked a finger in Butters' direction, "Knowing because she'd flip a shit on him."

"Do you know where he is right now?" Stan asked, one eye on Butters. "And don't lie, Cartman."

"I dunno. Probably at his house wallowing in a pool of his own feces because he can't afford a toilet." Cartman got to his feet and grabbed his bag. "Later, assholes."

"Goddammit," Wendy and Kyle said simultaneously, glaring after him.

Butters stopped staring into the distance long enough to notice that Stan was staring at _him_.

"Y-Yes?"

"You want to go by Kenny's house and see if he's there? If we go now, we might make it back before the end of the period."

Butters really couldn't think of anything he wanted more, but if he knew Kenny—and he liked to think he did—then his decision not to tell Butters anything would probably strengthen if Butters showed up with Stan. He'd probably tell Stan if Stan asked, or tell Butters if Butters confronted him about it, but he as sure as he knew the sky was blue and marshmallows were delicious that the two of them showing up together now wouldn't help a darn thing.

"No, that's alright. I'm sure Kenny's fine. You can go if you want. I'll head over there later."

"Are you sure?"

"I'ah don't think he'd be too happy t-to see me considering he didn't want me knowing in the first place."

"Kenny just doesn't want you to be mad at him," Stan insisted. "Seriously, come with me and talk to him. I'm willing to bet you're the only reason Kenny's stayed in school this long which also makes you the only person who can convince him to come back."

"…N-No, I don't think—"

"Butters, would you grow a fucking pair?" Kyle snapped as he reopened his textbook. "Kenny is your friend and as his friend it's your job to stand up to him and tell him to stop acting like an idiot! Tell him to stop cutting school, stop fucking people in the library, and stop molesting other people's boyfriends!"

Butters blinked. "What?"

"Don't worry about that last part." The smile Stan inexplicably shot in Kyle's direction further heightened Butters' confusion. "But he's right."

Wendy rested a hand on Butters' shoulders, making him jump. "You've got to call Kenny on his bullshit, Butters. Otherwise, you're not his friend. You're his doormat."

Butters lowered his gaze, rubbing his knuckles together even more furiously than before. "Oh, hamburgers."

x

As soon as school was over, Stan, Kyle, Wendy, and Butters decided to split up and check all of Kenny's usual haunts. Stan and Wendy took Stan's car, Kyle took his own car, and Butters declined an offer for a ride by both, preferring to walk. He waited until he couldn't hear the sounds of their engines anymore, then went to the Peppermint Hippo.

Kenny was knocking back a bottle of Sangria underneath the LIVE NUDES sign, mercifully alone. Butters doubted, after the kind of day he'd had, that he could stand to see Kenny surrounded by prostitutes. Especially prostitutes old enough to be his mother.

Butters inhaled deeply, approaching Kenny with all the caution of a hunter sneaking up on a deer. Kenny was so wasted that he didn't notice Butters until the bottle had been removed from his hand and tossed into the nearest trash receptacle. And even then, his only commentary was, "Where d'bottle go?"

"Kenny," Butters said, drawing on the little well of courage he kept for just these kinds of occasions. "Now you stop getting drunk and come on home with me right now. You're doing awful things to your liver."

"Butters?" Kenny squinted at him, then grabbed his face with a drunken smirk. "Butt—Butters, I fucked a guy that looks… looked just like you about… about ago. Isn't that sick? I even… I even got him to say 'oh, hamburgers.' Heh… oh god."

Kenny's hands slid down to his shoulders, his face flew downward, and he threw up all over Butters' shoes.

Butters caught him as he slumped. "Let's get you home, Kenny. Wrap your arms around my shoulders and—there you go. Come on now."

Kenny began singing a version of Loo Loo Loo that traded the word 'apples' for the word 'blueballs', which immediately ruled out the possibility of taking him to the Scotch residence. His parents would ground him and then probably forbid him from seeing Kenny ever again and Butters really didn't feel like sneaking out behind his parents' back. He already felt terrible enough about the smoking.

That left Kenny's house, if he could get Kenny there without Stan and Kyle finding him. Self-deprecating though he was, Kenny valued the opinion of Stan and Kyle more than either of them realized. Until Butters could figure out what the problem was, he was working on the assumption that Kenny wouldn't want them to see him like this.

"…take off our clothes and loo loo loo!" Butters joined in singing, laughing at the downright delighted expression on Kenny's face. Drunk or not, Kenny's good mood was infections.

Kenny tilted his head back and laughed. "Le-pold Scotch, I fuckin' love you!"

"I'ah love you, too, Kenny," Butters whispered with his heart in his throat. "A whole lot."

Kenny fell silent for the rest of the walk, aside from the occasional grumble or random burst of song. Butters only had to duck them into an alleyway once, when Kyle drove by calling Kenny's name out the window, which Kenny would have responded to had Butters not distracted him with a shiny glass bottle. Butters felt a little like James Bond except his parents didn't let him watch those kinds of movies so he had no idea where Kenny would fit in.

He didn't think Kenny's parents would have too much of a problem with him coming home drunk considering that Kenny's dad was always drunk and Kenny's mom was always yelling at him so he didn't bother to try any fancy means of sneaking in. Kenny collapsed on the bed as soon as he got near it, but before Butters could close and lock the door, Karen McCormick, Kenny's little sister, appeared in the doorway.

She assessed the situation quickly and grinned. "Pass me the PSP, would you? It's what Kenny's going to offer for my silence about this."

Butters bit his lip. "Well, can't you just let Kenny have this one for free? He's had a rough day and—"

"Words, words, words," Karen said, waving a had dismissively. "PSP. And make it quick. I'm missing my shows on the neighbor's TV. They have cable now."

He hesitated another moment, then kicked off his disgustingly damp shoes shoes, retrieved the PSP for her and locked the door before Kevin wandered in looking to pawn Kenny's stuff as well. At times like these, Butters was real glad he was an only child. Sure, it meant his parents watched him a lot more closely than Kenny's parents did him, but at least he got to keep all his stuff.

He turned, realizing that Kenny was watching him with slitted eyes. And that Kenny was shirtless. And that Kenny had a happy trail. And that his weiner was kind of interested in following it.

"Oh, hamburgers," Butters muttered, thinking of dead cats and children in third world countries. "Y-You should take off your shoes before you fall asleep and get dirt on the sheets, Kenny. The laundry jar in the living room doesn't have quarters in it no more."

Kenny didn't move.

"I'll help you." Butters walked over, still thinking resolutely of dead cats and children in third world countries, then pulled off Kenny's boots and tossed them in a heap in the corner. Kenny struck as fast as lightning, grabbing Butters and dragging him onto the bed before he really understood what was happening. He found himself half on top of Kenny, his nose pressed against Kenny's collarbone, and Kenny's arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Butters shifted so that he could breathe, then relaxed into the embrace. "What's wrong with you lately, Kenny? Can't you talk to me?"

Kenny's only response was silence.

Butters' hands twitched with the need to fidget, but they were trapped between his body and Kenny's. He glanced up, unsurprised to see that Kenny was fast asleep.

"Guess we'll talk about it later then," he sighed, settling himself in for a long afternoon.

x

When Kenny woke up, his mouth tasted like ass, his room smelled like ass, and his head had taken a vacation to Isle de la Achy. And, as if that wasn't enough, there was a warm weight on his chest that was slightly impairing his ability to breathe. The weight sighed, Kenny caught a whiff of baby powder, and then he debated between relaxing because it was Butters or tensing because it was Butters and Butters being here probably meant that Butters had finally realized that he wasn't out sick.

His ceiling was full of too many cracks for contemplation as it was way too easy to get distracted counting them so instead he glanced down at the top of Butters' head. Sunshine blond hair still stuck out in tufts all over the place despite Butters' best efforts to tame it, bringing a sense of wild unkemptness to an otherwise perfectly innocent face. About the time Kenny was going to attempt to slide out of bed and empty his stomach in the bathroom, Butters looked up at him and frowned when he saw that Kenny was awake.

"You've got a whole lot of explaining to do, mister," he said in such an adorably determined tone of voice that Kenny had to stomp down _hard_ on the urge to kiss him. "And I ain't leaving until you do."

Kenny swallowed back his nausea. "I was going to tell you eventually, but, fine, here it is: Butters, I dropped out of school last week and I'm not going back."

"Why the heck not?"

"Because it's _pointless_, Butters. Why waste my parents' welfare checks on two more years at South Park High when I could just get a job and start supplementing our income from now?"

"What kind of high paying job do you expect to get without a high school education? Minimum wage ain't gonna pay the bills! Especially not if you're blowing it at the Peppermint Hippo!"

Kenny was puzzled for all of five seconds before he remembered his new boss inviting him for an after dinner drink at the Peppermint Hippo. The aftermath of that was a blur of scotch and tequila and topless women with bouncing boobs. Oh, god.

"_Shit_! What time is it?" Kenny pushed Butters off him and rolled out of bed, regretting it a minute later as the sudden movement made his head spin. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his temples and gritting his teeth. "Goddammit, shouldn't I have built up a fucking immunity by now?"

"It's almost midnight. You've been out for almost nine hours," Butters folded his arms and put his sulk-face on. "You gotta go back to school, Kenny."

"I don't have to do anything," Kenny said as he pushed himself back to his feet. The nausea resumed. "Ugh, except use the bathroom. Excuse me."

"Kenny!"

Once he'd finished worshipping the porcelain gods and brushing his teeth, Kenny returned to his room, pulled on his boots, and considered putting on his parka for all of five seconds before deciding against it. He didn't want to go through all the trouble of training his co-workers to understand him with it on when he could just forgo it entirely.

Butters grabbed his sleeve just as he was about to leave. "Where're you going now?"

"Dude, I got wasted and ditched my boss at the Peppermint Hippo. And this is South Park. He'll probably still be in the same spot watching the same girl circle the same pole and if I hurry I can convince him it's earlier than it actually is." He grinned. "Sometimes, the stupidity of the adults in this town is so convenient."

"Kenny," Butters said so seriously that Kenny's smile faded almost immediately. Butters dropped his hand, averting his gaze for a moment before coming back stronger than before. "Kenny, this isn't right, what you're doing. You can't drop out of school. What'm I supposed to do without you around, huh? Who do I hang out with? Craig? And your parents work real hard to send you to school in the first place because they want a better life for you than this. How'd they feel if they knew you'd dropped out? I wish… I wish you'd talked to me about this before you just up and did it. I…" Butters faltered, staring at his feet. "I'm real sorry if I've done something to make you sore at me, Kenny. I swear I didn't mean to."

Kenny felt a combination of guilt and pure, unabashed love that made it hard for him to breathe. It hurt. Fuck, it hurt. He couldn't fucking stand it anymore.

He stepped into Butters' personal space, using one hand to tilt his chin up and wrapping the other around Butters' waist. His mouth caught Butters' in mid-question, realigning itself with the size and shape of Butters' lips. The constant weight in his chest eased just a little when Butters didn't push him away and he couldn't resist swiping his tongue along the crease of Butters' lips for the briefest of moments.

Kenny stepped back, breathing a little too hard for a kiss so short, and ducking his head before he could see Butters' reaction. "I have to go. I—You can stay over if you want. No, actually, you _should_ stay over. It's dangerous to walk around the neighborhood at night if you're an outsider… You… You know where your clothes are."

And, because he was a yellow-bellied chickenshit, he turned and fled.

x

"This is, without a doubt, the gayest thing you've done since you tried to be metrosexual," Ike commented from behind the comfort of a Physics book, watching Kyle rush around his room in search of something to wear.

It was Saturday, Date Day, and Kyle had never felt more panicked. What the hell was one supposed to wear on what was possibly the most important date of his life? Hat or no hat? Did Stan think his hair was stupid? Kyle thought his hair was stupid and he and Stan generally tended to agree with one another which meant Stan probably thought his hair was stupid, too. Hat it was, then, but what about shoes? Pants? Shirt? …Watch?

"Kyle, if you don't stop making this much of a fuss over what you're wearing, Mom and Dad are going to know something's up," Ike continued. "I mean, you're doing a sorry job of hiding it, what with you guys dry humping each other on the bed with the door easily pickable by anyone in possession of hairpin which—combined with hairspray—makes up at least 85% of mom's daily hairstyle, but still! Why not just wear a rainbow yamaka?"

"Ike, shut up," Kyle muttered as he rummaged under the bed for his red Nikes. "You don't understand. This is one of the few big chances I've got to convince Stan to make this relationship less of a scientific hypothesis and more of an actual relationship. You know, with love and sex and everything."

Ike smiled sympathetically. "You've really got it bad for Stan, don't you?"

"Oh, you have no idea. Ah!" Kyle grabbed the shoes by the laces and dragged them out, contemplating what on earth he could wear with them. "I've had a crush on Stan since we were in third grade and he told me he wanted to wear my ass as a hat. He was the first one to tell me that, actually, and he was just a mouthpiece for Bebe. I would have been disappointed if I hadn't been so grossed out."

"I don't think your ass is that great."

"I'd be highly disturbed if you did. What do you think of this shirt?"

"You know, when I was in fifth grade, I had a period where I thought I might be in love with Fillmore."

Kyle stopped comparing t-shirts and stared at his brother. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Well, yeah," Ike set his book aside and flopped back on the bed. "See, we both had a crush on the same girl, right? I don't know if you know Flora. Anyway, Fillmore and I had a crush on her, but Flora's an indecisive little shit and couldn't pick one of us. It kind of put a strain on me and Fillmore's relationship. Sometimes, I'd catch myself glaring at him in class for long periods of time, shoving him for no reason, all that. And then I thought… I don't even touch Flora this much. What if I'm misdirecting my sexual energy onto her when I really want Fillmore?"

"…how did I not know about this?"

"Because I'm pretty sure you and Stan spent that month in medieval times looking for a dragon scale to trade for a new bike or something. I just remember toting that replacement Kyle puppet I bought off Cartman to and from school every day for a month."

Kyle scratched his head. "Right. Well, you still could have told me when I got back."

"Anyway, I talked to Kenny and he talked me through my sexuality crisis, you know, making sure I didn't resent myself for things beyond my own control and all that. 'These feelings are natural', 'There's nothing wrong with you', 'If you weren't four years away from being jailbait, I'd totally fuck you'. Things like that."

"Um—"

"And then Flora picked me and I never considered boys again. Of course, we broke up in like a week and then she moved on to Fillmore, who also dumped her after a week, but those are trivialities. My point is, everybody's had a moment where they've had to seriously consider whether or not they're in love with their best friend, regardless of gender. Stan seems to have skipped that part and gone straight for the full monty, which is his mistake, but you don't have to try so hard. Eventually, he's going to come around to actually thinking about it all on his own and you can't speed or slow the process. What you _can_ do is accept his decision and try to hold on to your friendship."

Kyle was silent for a long moment.

"How old are you again?"

"Eleven."

"And why aren't you going to some special school for smart kids?"

"Because there is no such thing as a smart school in South Park," Ike grabbed his textbook again. "Besides, I like it here. If you can survive South Park, you can survive anything."

Kyle walked over and ruffled his little brother's hair, smiling even though he was deeply unsettled by the advice. If he couldn't influence Stan's decision even a little, then what was the whole point? Everyone seemed so eager to give him well-meaning, but contradictory advice about how to handle the Stan situation and Kyle had no idea _what_ to believe anymore. He wished it could just be as easy as wearing the right thing or saying the right words, but when had his life ever been that simple?

The doorbell rang. Ike lifted an eyebrow. "Wow, he actually rang the doorbell? This really _is_ a date."

Kyle looked down at himself, realizing that he was not properly dressed yet, and flew around his room, grabbing a green shirt, a pair of jeans, black shoes, black jacket, ushanka, keys, wallet, cologne, forgot the socks, kicking off his shoes, slipping them on, replacing his shoes just in time for the door to slide open and Stan to stare at him in puzzled amusement.

"Dude, clean your room. It looks like a clothing bomb went off in here."

"One kind of did," Ike snorted. "Take him, Stan. Take him and be merry."

"Bye, Ike," Stan and Kyle said simultaneously, Kyle patting his pockets down one more time before following Stan down the stairs, through the front door, and out to his car.

Stan nudged Kyle with his shoulder and smiled. "You excited?"

"Ecstatic," Kyle responded, the sarcasm dripping from his tone hiding the butterflies in his stomach. "I hope they have good crepes."

Stan's smile widened into one that made Kyle's heart thud traitorously in his chest, reminding him, as though he'd forgotten, that he was so in love with this boy. Kyle got in the car, strapped his seatbelt on, and breathed slowly. It was going to be a _long_ day.

x

In light of Kyle's recent erratic behavior, Stan expected the drive to Middle Park to be awkward, but a single mention of how Cartman was doing in Mexico brought on a round of bitching intensive enough to put a fat bitch on the rag to shame and fill the potentially awkward silence.

Stan was having a hard time keeping his eyes on the road. Kyle had put on so much cologne that it was either suffocating him or making him high, but he could tell from the way Kyle's fingernails were all bitten down that the slightest bit of criticism might send Kyle into a panic. It made him oddly happy to see how much effort Kyle was putting into making it work. Stan wanted to tell him that he didn't have to try so hard, that he was sure they could revert back to friendship just as easily if this whole thing didn't work out, but he could never get the words out. Kyle was kind of cute when he was nervous, to be perfectly honest, and Stan didn't really want to jeopardize that. He wondered if that made him a bad friend.

Stan and Kyle had moved on to comparing the newest Gamesphere games by the time Stan pulled into a parking lot. The festival was one street over and, though he tried to pay attention to what Kyle was saying as they walked, his mind was on something a little more important. Namely, taking Kyle's hand just as soon as they hit the sidewalk and squeezing it playfully.

Kyle stopped mid-sentence and stared down at their intertwined fingers. "What are you doing?"

"Curing cancer. What does it look like I'm doing?"

Kyle's cheeks were pink as he scoffed. "Dude, you are so gay."

"Trying."

Kyle tried and failed to act like he wasn't amused and Stan smiled to himself as they made their way into the festival. It was less of a festival and more of a giant street fair, really, with a bunch of people and a bunch of stands selling a bunch of cheap items, but Kyle was Jewish and therefore, according to Cartman, cheap which meant that he'd probably have a damn good time. And as soon as Kyle caught sight of the winter hats for $3 or less, his eyes lit up and he let go of Stan's hand to run over to the stand and start weighing his options.

Stan took a seat on the curb between a falafel booth and one selling sunglasses, watching Kyle argue with the vendor about the cost of mittens. He'd caught himself watching Kyle a lot these days, waiting for that shift. Life had taught him that you could see a person every day for your whole life, but, once you fell in love with them, it was like looking at someone completely different. It wasn't the person that had changed, just your perception of them. Stan was waiting for the day he began perceiving Kyle differently. It had to happen, right? Two people didn't just subconsciously act like they were together if they didn't really want to be together, right?

Kyle was doing a good job of acting like he wanted to be together, even if he was a little wary of Stan's attempts at romantic affection. Stan wasn't sure what kind of a job he was doing. Unless they were making out, Kyle never made a move to touch him at all.

He looked up to see Kyle holding the mittens victoriously, pointing at them and mouthing, "Twenty-five cents!" before browsing again. Stan stifled a laugh, knowing it would piss Kyle off to know that he was acting just like how Cartman always claimed Jews acted. As a matter of fact, Cartman was sometimes weirdly spot-on about these things. Kyle _was_ a gold-hoarding, bargain-hunting, Jesus-killing Jew fag. Stan found a private humor in the situation.

Pushing himself to his feet, Stan perused the stalls on this side of the street, stopping when he hit one that was selling pajamas and smiled.

Kyle found him by the toy stall, clutching a bag that appeared to be full of scarves, hats, mittens, and even a pair of knitted snowshoes. He lifted it proudly. "All together, this only cost me ten ninety nine. I _love_ street fairs."

"I got this for you, too." Stan brandished his own bag and handed it over.

Kyle gave him a puzzled look akin to the one he'd given their conjoined hands, then peeked inside the bag. His jaw dropped. "Dude! Terrence and Phillip pajamas? I thought they stopped making these after they retired!"

"I thought so, too, until I saw them hanging at the pajama booth for eleven bucks."

"And you're giving them to me?" Kyle tried to give the bag back. "No way, Stan. You were always the one going to bed in the T&P pajamas, not me. I'm not going to take that from you."

Stan caught Kyle's hands, but made no move to retrieve the bag.

"Hey, you're my boyfriend," Stan said warmly. "I want you to have them. And anyway dude since these are just a bigger version of my old pajamas, now you can pretend you're wearing me to bed."

Kyle was giving their hands that look again, but then his eyes met Stan's and the heated look in them sent a shiver down Stan's spine. "Why pretend when I can have the real thing?"

Highly uncomfortable though oddly intrigued, Stan cleared his throat and stepped back, releasing one of Kyle's hands. "I'm kind of hungry. Let's see if we can find those crepes."

They found a nearby park and sat down on a bench to eat their crepes, Stan watching Kyle out of the corner of his eye again. Was Kyle having fun? Was Stan trying too hard? Not hard enough? Should he have brought flowers? What—

"Dude, dude!" Kyle elbowed him and grinned. "Look! Old people!"

The two set their plates aside and began making faces. Kyle stuck his tongue out as far as it would go, stretched his cheeks, and crossed his eyes. Stan pulled down his eyelids and stuck out his tongue, freezing his expression until the elderly had hobbled past. Once they were gone, Stan and Kyle laughed so hard that tears rolled down their cheeks and Stan had to lean against Kyle for support.

All the tension he had been feeling since he'd picked Kyle up abruptly evaporated. This was Kyle Broflovski, the same Kyle Broflovski he'd grown up with, done everything with, seen at his best and at his worst, and had see him at his best and at his worst. He didn't have to worry about Kyle the way he might have had to with a girl. If Kyle didn't want to be here, he wouldn't be.

Stan wiped a stray tear from his eye and returned the grin Kyle was giving him, appreciating his almost cruelly blunt honesty in a way he never had before. And then, just as Kyle was rubbing the moisture off his face, Stan leaned over and kissed him.

At first, Kyle was too stunned to respond, but then his hands curled around the back of Stan's neck and his lips opened up under Stan's and, fuck, why was this always so good? Bebe had been kind of an idiot to break up with Kyle if he was this good of a kisser.

Kyle's fingers were running through his hair and Stan stopped doing that stupid thinking thing and instead scooted forward on the bench, touching Kyle's cheek with one hand and stroking it at the same time his tongue slid into Kyle's mouth. It seemed to have a powerful inability to be anywhere else when they were kissing. It was kind of troublesome.

As usual, Kyle was the first to pull away, though he did it with a hum of contentment, and he rested his forehead against Stan's and smiled as he asked, "Did you drag me all the way up to Middle Park so we could make out in public?"

Stan thought about it.

"No…" His voice cracked slightly when Kyle leaned down to nuzzle his neck. "Not…" Kyle's tongue swiped his pulse point and Stan swallowed hard. "Not… consciously."

"Mhmm," Kyle murmured before nibbling the crook of his neck.

Stan's breath came out in a rush. "O-Our crepes are going to get cold."

"Mm… right."

Kyle straightened, grabbed what was left of his crepe, and resumed eating as though he hadn't been doing criminal things to Stan's precious heart rate. Stan had to take a moment (or six) to compose himself before he could get back to eating his own crepe. And even then he still found himself very, very aware that he was sitting next to Kyle; the place where their legs was touching felt like it was on fire.

He might as well admit it: he was sexually attracted to Kyle. Or he was just horny. He had no real way of differentiating, but that was alright. For now, at least, he wouldn't worry about it.

x

Wendy had expected to spend her weekend staking out the _Congreso de la Union_ in order to intercept Cartman before he could threaten, blackmail, or otherwise coerce them into making him president of the Mexican states, kick the shit out of him, and then have them both back on a plane to Colorado by early Monday morning. She really should have known better.

One week. She had been in Mexico for an entire week, missing school, missing Thanksgiving, and even missing Cartman because no matter how hard she tried to track him down, he was always one step ahead of her.

If she found a trail of empty Cheesy Poof bags that led her onto a bus headed toward the ancient Mayan temples, she was always told, "Oh, that attractive boy with the hockey jersey? He left awhile ago." If she tracked Cartman down to one of Mexico's many, many beaches, she always arrived in time to see the crumbling replica of a middle finger or a toilet bowl that he'd made hours ago. Hell, she'd actually managed to _see_ him on Wednesday just outside of Mexico City and she'd lost him in a crowd so quickly she thought she'd imagined the whole thing. She was so annoyed, she could spit!

That was probably why, when she left her hotel room in Mexico City and ran smack dab into the devil's advocate himself, her gut reaction was to punch him in the face. Which she did.

"Ow, bitch, what the fuck?" Cartman grunted, rubbing his jaw. "You off your meds?"

Wendy's look could have boiled water. "'What the fuck'? I should be asking you that question! Why have I been tailing you all over Mexico for a week? If you're going to take the country over, take it over, but don't sight-see it first!"

Cartman stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced at something to the side. "Mexico is a very beautiful country, Wendy. I thought you of all people would appreciate the aesthetic and historical significance of the architectural remains of an ancient race of people. Figures you'd be too uptight to enjoy a little vacation."

"Stop screwing around, Cartman. If you're not here to declare yourself ruler of Mexico, then why _are_ you here? And why am _I_ here?"

"You're here because you felt compelled to stop me in light of Kyle's date last Saturday," Cartman said innocently. "As for why I'm here, that should all become clear if you follow me."

Wendy blinked. "Wait, how did you know that Kyle—"

"Move it, ho. We haven't got all day!"

Wendy bristled, but bit back her insults and stomped after him. Involuntarily, her eyes began to appraise him while he wasn't looking. His hair, a growing buzz cut, looked slightly sun-kissed and he had definitely gained a tan that made him look even more attractively imposing. She hadn't noticed while she had been yelling at him, but his usual jersey and jeans had been replaced by a plaid collared shirt and grey slacks. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

After a while of waking, Cartman stopped and turned, a grave expression on his face. "Wendy," he said, surprising her. She hadn't really thought he knew she had a first name that wasn't 'bitch', 'ho', or 'hippie'. "I know you don't trust me, but I'm going to need you to observe the proceedings silently and save any and all yelling, bitching, nagging, or whining for when I get you back to your hotel, okay? Otherwise, we're both screwed to hell."

Wendy nodded apprehensively.

"Good." He extended his arm his arm for her take, which she did with more than a little trepidation. "Then welcome to Cartmanland's new location in Mexico City, Mexico."

Cartman turned them and Wendy's eyes widened as she saw that, yes, they were standing across the street from a Cartmanland, the rides and games and people all contained behind a giant gate above which there was a picture of a smiling eight-year-old Cartman.

"It's new," Cartman told her, sounding proud. "I'm just here to close a few deals and approve the management. Although, considering everyone here is Mexican, I have no idea where they get their illegal immigrant labor."

Wendy allowed herself to be lead in to the theme park, marveling every time someone addressed Cartman with the surname "Mr." or the occasional respectful "Sir." It felt like she'd stepped into the Twilight Zone. Or the Cartman Zone.

They went deep into the park, to the managerial offices, and Cartman gestured for Wendy to take an empty seat while he shook hands with two tanned men.

"Good afternoon, sirs," Cartman said in flawless Spanish. "I am Eric Cartman but you can call me Mr. Cartmanez."

Wendy bit the inside of her cheek.

"Let's talk contracts, shall we?"

The meeting took up the better part of the day, but, as though to keep her from being too bored, Cartman frequently turned to her and asked her opinion on the proceedings, even allowing her to look over the contracts before he signed anything. Wendy could almost identify individual points where she was actually having fun and it scared her so badly that she withdrew into herself, refusing to acknowledge Cartman or the men until the contracts were signed and the meeting came to a close.

"Want to look around the park?" Cartman asked once they were back outside. The sun had set a few hours ago and Wendy, who had forgone a jacket, was reluctantly walking close to him for the body heat. "We could ride the ferris wheel, too, if you'd like."

She looked up at him.

"What?" he said defensively. "You weren't as useless as you usually are in there. Excuse me for trying to be nice to you, bitch."

"Be nice to me?" Wendy echoed, coming to a stop and stepping away from him. "This is what you call being nice to me? You trick me into blowing my money on a plane ticket to Mexico under false pretenses, drag me on a seven-day long wild goose chase around the country, then force me to watch you deceive some very nice Mexicans just so you could open another damn theme park? _That's_ you being nice?"

Cartman paused. "Well, yeah."

"Well, what you call being nice, I call being lied to and forced to miss a week's worth of schoolwork for an unexplained absence I'm going to have to try and excuse when I interview at Harvard next year!" Wendy threw up her hands in exasperation. "I don't know what your problem is, Eric Cartman, but I am sick of it! Do me a favor and don't be nice to me anymore. I'm going back to my hotel room and I'm booking a flight back to South Park and if you so much as speak to me again I will tear your fucking balls off!"

"But—"

"I mean it!"

She shoved him once for good measure then marched off to the park entrance, seething. One whole week. She'd been in Mexico for an entire week _for nothing_. What had she gotten out of this? Cartman had gotten the money he would be making from his new theme park, but Wendy had just gotten a week's worth of unfinished homework and a world full of problems. And souvenirs, but those weren't even for her.

Some part of her kind of expected Cartman to run after her and maybe not apologize but at least walk her back to the hotel room. But this was Eric Cartman not any other normal well-adjusted male and she walked back alone, a decision forming in her mind with each step. By the time she returned to her room, Wendy knew exactly what she had to do.

x

TO BE CONTINUED…

x

**Author's Note:** This was way longer than I intended it to be even though I cut Thanksgiving, but a lot of stuff went down in November, I guess. I love how the last two chapters have accidentally matched up with the months in real time. That probably won't happen again. Stay tuned!


	4. December

**RED STRING**  
Author: the pink striper  
Rating: M for language and sexual humor/situations. And Kenny.  
Pairings: Stan/Kyle, Kenny/Butters, Cartman/Wendy, and other minor pairings.  
Summary: Stan Marsh has decided that he wants more out of his super best friendship with Kyle Broflovski. A lot more. What starts as a simple experiment quickly spirals out of control, which, in a town like South Park, is never a good thing. Meanwhile, Kenny McCormick decides that high school is a waste of his time, much to Butters Scotch's horror, and Eric Cartman decides to follow Wendy Testaburger to Harvard. Let the games begin.

x

"_Write me off, give up on me, but, darling, what did you expect? I'm just a lost cause, a long shot, don't even take this bet. You can make all the moves, you can aim all the spotlights, get all the sighs and the moans just right. I'm sleeping on your folks' porch again, dreaming. She said, 'Why don't you just drop dead?' I don't blame you for being you, but you can't blame me for hating it. So say, 'What are you waiting for? Kiss her.' I set my clocks early 'cause I know I'm always late. You said you'd keeping being honest, but I won't call you on it."  
**-A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me" by Fall Out Boy**_

x

**DECEMBER**

x

Stan felt the weight of Kyle's absence during afternoon study sessions like it was a tangible block pressing down on him. He was at a table in the back of the library with Butters, Cartman, and Wendy, who had arrived, taken one look at Cartman, pursed her lips, and decided to spend the entire session saying nothing. Cartman had initially insulted her at a rate of five curses per minute—and, wow, Stan really needed a break—but he'd eventually tapered off into silence as well. Butters had been silent and jittery all week and, without Kyle, Stan saw no reason to be talking either.

It was the quietest and most awkward study session he'd ever been forced to sit through.

He really hated it when Kyle was out sick. On the one hand, there was always that inevitable worry that Kyle might be close to death again. Kenny aside, Kyle was the one who came the closest to dying the most often. Stan chalked it up to a combination of the diabetes and plain old bad luck. Either way, thinking about Kyle being sick made him think of Kyle's high risk of dying which sent his heart rate speeding up and made him long for the end of the day when he could go to Kyle's house and make sure his best friend was still alive.

Then, on the other hand, there was the fact that, without Kyle, being at school really, really sucked. Stan had sent at least ten text messages to Kyle during lunch, only three of which had actually been answered, and he was itching to send another. He felt kind of obsessive, but that was probably just his hormones complaining about the lack of between class nookie.

He groaned and rested his head on the table, unable to believe his mind had seriously gone there. It wasn't like he hadn't been kissed before. He was pretty sure he was never this way with Wendy. Then again…

"Hey, Wendy," he whispered, somehow catching the attention of the entire table anyway. His cheeks colored, but he pressed on. "Can I ask you kind of an awkward question?"

Wendy glanced at Cartman and Butters, then scooted her chair forward so he could whisper in her ear. "Go ahead."

Stan cleared his throat for a moment, trying to think of the best way to phrase it, but he was coming up blank. _Was_ there a good way to phrase this? Maybe he shouldn't even ask at all. But, in the pursuit of science—

"Stan," Wendy murmured. "Are you going to ask me something or are you just too lazy to finish studying for the math test?"

"No, I—" Stan swallowed his pride. "How did I… how did I act after I kissed you for the first time without throwing up? Was I like… Did I like…?"

Wendy blinked owlishly at him.

"Did you notice me acting… weirdly… obsessed… with you?

Wendy blinked again.

"It's a stupid question," Stan's cheeks flamed as he looked away. "Forget it."

"No! No, I—you just caught me a little off guard," Wendy sat up in her seat and pushed her hair behind her ears in a distinctly flustered manner. "I didn't really notice anything. I mean, I wanted to spend a lot of time with you, too, of course. You held my hand a lot… we had a lot more dates…" Her voice went fond. "Your stomach always used to grumble because you refused to eat before or during, just in case you had a relapse."

Stan smiled at the memory. "You tried to trick me into eating all the time. Taking me to restaurants and movie theaters and to the supermarket that one time. I think you thought I was anorexic or something."

"I did! I was terrified I'd pushed you into having an eating disorder!" Wendy laughed. "I really didn't mind washing all that vomit out of my hair and clothes, you know. I loved you that much."

Stan's eyebrows drew together. "_Loved_?"

"Yes, loved. As in past tense. I'm not in love with you anymore, obviously."

"I wasn't aware you were in love with me before."

Wendy stared at him incredulously. "Are you _really_ that dense?"

"Apparently."

"Stan, I saw us getting married, having kids, sending them to Harvard… I thought we had a future together. Or, at least, I hoped we did. God, the way I felt about you…"

"Um," Stan was trying and failing to wrap his mind around this new development. "You didn't—You didn't seem like—I mean, how does someone act when—You were seriously in love with me?"

"_Yes_, Stan."

Stan stared at the tabletop. "Wow."

"But, you know, Bebe and I had sleepovers and we'd inevitably end up talking about you and Kyle and how unusually close the two of you were for two presumably straight boys and I sort of began to suspect maybe you weren't as in love with _me_ as I was with you. Honestly, I thought you were bullshitting me when you said you wanted to break up because any and all time we spent together inevitably ended up going horribly wrong. Especially since Kyle broke up with Bebe, like, a month later."

"I didn't dump you for Kyle!"

"Uh huh."

"Wendy, I didn't."

"No, of course not. I have no idea why you guys waited three years to start dating." She slid her chair away from him again. "After the first year, I gave up hope that you ever would."

Stan stared at the tabletop again, mind reeling although he couldn't exactly pinpoint why. There was nothing _really_ unusual about what Wendy had said. Cartman said it was always the girl who started having 'feelings' first because girls needed to believe they were in love to justify all the nasty shit they were willing to do with their boyfriends. He and Wendy hadn't done any so-called 'nasty shit', but maybe she'd fooled herself into thinking she was in love with him? After all, they'd only dated for four years and they'd broken up plenty of times. And most (okay, all except the last time) had been Wendy breaking up with him.

Stan snuck a glance at Wendy and shook his head. Wendy was a smart girl. She wasn't the type to just declare herself in love with someone until she was absolutely sure what she was feeling. How she'd figured out love at the age of thirteen when Stan was seventeen and still had no idea what love meant was beyond him. Wendy had been his first girlfriend, the girl who could have him laughing, barfing, and crying all in the same week. Her opinion had always mattered to him and hearing her laugh when he hadn't been the one causing it had always left a sick feeling in his stomach. Was that love? Could nausea and love be synonymous?

He tried to picture Wendy as his younger self had seen her: confident, independent, opinionated and headstrong, but also warm and loving. That long black hair that he'd loved to run his fingers through, those huge blue eyes he could have stared at all day, all that soft, pale skin he'd loved to touch. He remembered snuggling with her on his couch while they watched Jeopardy (at her request) and he would kiss her for every wrong answer since he got a lot more kisses that way and it distracted her from the fact that she'd gotten something wrong. Then, once Jeopardy was over and they'd managed to tear their lips apart, they would watch Terrence & Phillip five times because Stan loved it and Wendy… apparently had loved him.

Wendy looked at him then and she smiled and for a moment, Stan almost felt like barfing.

"What," he began, a little awed by the prospect. "What if I didn't realize I was in love with you, too?"

Wendy snorted. "Don't be stupid. If you didn't realize, it was because you were too busy being in love with Kyle. It's always been Kyle with you."

"What? No, it hasn't."

"Stan, do you remember when we went on that double date to that French restaurant? You didn't order anything until Kyle and Bebe showed up and then you and Kyle split a plate of French fries because Kyle asked you to. _Kyle_. When I'd been begging you all night to eat something."

Stan shifted awkwardly. "That was just—"

"And the time we went to the movie theater to see that _Waves of Love_ and you spent the whole time with one arm around me and the other hand sending text messages to Kyle about how lame the movie was?"

"…it was a really bad movie."

"And when we went to the supermarket! All that food I convinced you to buy was sugar-free and kosher! Know why? Because it was _all for Kyle_!"

"Well," Stan said defensively. "He's diabetic, Wendy. And Jewish. And, anyway, it wasn't always about Kyle. Remember the time we went to the amusement park—"

"You mean the time we went with Kyle and Bebe and you guys spent the whole night in the arcade or the time we went alone and got stuck on the Ferris wheel and you said, 'Hey, this happened to me and Kyle once and we spat over the sides at the people in the cart below us' and I said, 'Ew' and we spent the whole time just cuddling? Silently?"

Stan felt like there was another argument he could and should make, but his mind had gone entirely blank save for the obvious question of, "Then why'd you stay with me for so long?"

Wendy sighed. "I guess I kept hoping that eventually I'd replace Kyle as your most important person. And then I realized that would never happen. So I moved on."

"Yeah," Cartman said acidly, drawing attention to himself for the first time. "_After_ he dumped your ass."

Stan stopped staring at Wendy long enough to glare at Cartman, noticing for the first time that Butters was now absent from the table. He considered asking where Butters had gone, but then Wendy slammed her book shut and hissed, "Shut up, Cartman!" and Stan knew any input from him would go unheard from that point on.

Cartman smirked victoriously and color bloomed high on Wendy's cheeks.

"_Goddammit_!" She turned back to Stan almost violently. "Anyway, eventually I found someone else I love who loves me back and I am very, _very_ happy!"

She didn't sound very happy, but Stan didn't think it was wise to point that out.

"Talking about me again?" said Token Black as he came up behind Wendy and rested his hands on her shoulders. Stan expected Wendy to tell Token to fuck off as she had never quite taken to him romantically, but, to his surprise, she smiled, turned, and allowed Token to kiss her thoroughly.

Stan chanced a peek at Cartman to see him in a similar state of astonishment, although Cartman was also managing to look pale and nauseous at the same time.

"When did this happen?" Stan asked once they'd finished, grinning at the sheer contentment on both their faces.

"And when can it stop?" Cartman grumbled, though he still looked sick. "God, have a little self-respect. Not everyone wants to watch you two dry hump each other all over the goddamn place."

Token smirked. "You're sounding a little bitter there, Cartman. Angry 'cause I beat you to her?"

"Fuck you, Token. Like I'd get anywhere near Wendy's vag with a fifty foot pole. Probably smells like weed and trees and desperation. Good luck satisfying _that_." Cartman gave both of them a very dirty look, then gathered his things and marched away from the table.

"I… feel like I just missed something," Stan said warily, looking to Wendy and Token for answers.

Wendy beamed.

x

Kenny hadn't spoken to Butters in a week. Well, that wasn't true. He hadn't spoken to Butters since the kiss. Or, really, Butters hadn't spoken to him because he was pretty sure Butters was avoiding him. Which was fine because Kenny could kind of understand why Butters would want to stay as far away from him as humanly possible, but that didn't mean it didn't sting.

Currently, he was spending his lunch break in Kyle's bed with a bag full of treasures from City Wok, the results of his first paycheck. He'd saved a couple of dollars, but, in light of recent events, he'd felt like splurging on lunch (and dinner). And since Kyle was out sick from school, who better to share it with?

"So, how goes it between you and Marsh?" Kenny asked as he passed Kyle the fried noodles and cracked open the wontons. "I heard your date was a success."

"Did you?" Kyle looked a little too hopeful, a sure sign that the boner he had for Stan was not going away any time soon. "What else did Stan say about our date?"

"That you're just downright adorable when you find a bargain. He wants to eat you all up."

"_Kenny._"

Kenny tilted his head back and laughed. "Alright, I improvised that last part, but he did actually use the word adorable."

Even Kyle's skepticism was hopeful. That was what love did to people. Kenny would think it was kind of pathetic if it wasn't for the fact that he was the exact same way when it came to Butters. And as though he could read Kenny's mind, Kyle's hand covered his and intertwined their fingers.

"He's still not talking to you, huh?"

Kenny didn't really feel like talking about so he simply squeezed Kyle's hand in response, giving him a small smile. Kyle smiled back then ruined it by sneezing so hard his whole body shook with the force of it and slumping against Kenny's shoulder. His forehead was burning hot.

"If you're dying, you're going to have to tell me now, because I'm not spiritually attuned to your needs like Stan is," Kenny teased gently, slipping his hand out of Kyle's to wrap his arm around Kyle's shoulders and tug him closer. "Should I go get you more Tylenol?"

Kyle coughed. "No, if it gets bad enough, Mom'll stick her head in with some. I think she paces outside the door or something."

They sat comfortably like that for awhile, Kenny shoving fried rice into his mouth with his free hand while soaking up the added body heat. Kyle had begun to doze off and the rush of warm breath on his neck combined with the way Kyle fit neatly against his side combined to warm him from the inside out. Kenny had made it no secret that he would do any one of his friends in a heartbeat (even Cartman), but these times, when they were all snuggled up together, were his favorites. Sex he got plenty of. Genuine affection was rare.

It was close to twenty minutes later, once Kenny had finished all of the food, that Kyle murmured, "I don't think he'll ever like me. Not the way I like him."

Kenny didn't need to ask who Kyle was talking about. "I think you've got a pretty decent shot. Stan already likes you."

"That's the problem. He already likes me. What more could I possibly do to make him _love_ me?"

'_Sexy lingerie?' _Kenny wanted to suggest, but now was not the time for jokes and Kyle was at his most vulnerable when he was half-asleep. Any answer he could come up with either sounded stupid or corny or just plain false and he knew that Kyle had as low a tolerance for bullshit as he did. Eventually, Kenny just pulled him closer and rested his temple against the top of Kyle's damp curls.

"I have no idea," he said honestly. "But I'd prepare for the worst just in case."

Kyle murmured something unintelligible into his neck just as Kenny caught sight of the clock and realized that his lunch break had ended quite some time ago. He cursed.

"It's like I'm _trying_ to get fired. God, I hope Jeff's still at the bar and not doing rounds." He carefully slid his arm out from around Kyle, gathered up his things, and climbed off the bed. "I've got a Chevy that needs fixing and a sincere hope that I don't accidentally kill myself with power drill. I might swing by later to check on you again."

Kyle settled down against the pillows and nodded. Kenny had seen popped balloons that were happier than Kyle was at the moment. He felt bad, but at the same time he knew that this was really something Kyle had to deal with on his own.

"Oh, by the way," Kenny dug around his pocket and withdrew a red card that smelled distinctly like peppermint. "Bebe's having a Christmas party and I was told to deliver that to you personally. If you don't go, she might just kill herself."

Kyle wrinkled his nose. "I don't even like Bebe."

"You should have thought about that before you went out with her. Here."

Kyle turned the invite over in his hands but made no indication of whether or not he was actually considering going to the party. Kenny rolled his eyes, wondering not for the first time what exactly had gone down between Kyle and Bebe to make Kyle so indifferent and Bebe so obsessed, but that was none of his business. Plus, it didn't matter as long as Bebe kept putting out.

Then again, she wasn't talking to him either…

Kenny reached up to draw his hood tighter around his head, then realized he wasn't wearing his parka. It was discomforting.

"I'll see you later, Kyle."

Kyle sneezed in response.

x

When Kyle awoke from his nap, Stan was in his bed. He couldn't see him because they were spooning, his back to Stan's front, but he would have to be retarded not to be able to recognize Stan's presence instinctively by now, fever or no fever.

Stan was humming in his ear, a tune that sounded a lot like the Jeopardy theme, and the hand of the arm Stan had wrapped around his waist had inched under his shirt and was lightly brushing his stomach. Kyle felt boneless and relaxed, remembering when he used to lie in bed late at night and pray for this. Even with the nagging thought that this could all go away just as easily as he'd acquired it, Kyle couldn't help but snuggle back a little bit.

The humming stopped and Kyle could feel Stan angling his head to see if he was awake. He confirmed it with a cough, then gave Stan a wry smile. "I'd kiss you, but my mouth is germ central right now."

"Dude, if I cared, I wouldn't be in bed with you," was Stan's lackluster response. He pressed a kiss below Kyle's ear and sighed, the rush of warm air making Kyle shiver pleasantly. "You missed a lot at school today. Wendy and Token are back together."

"Again?"

"Again," Stan continued in monotone. "And I think Butters is still avoiding Kenny."

"He's definitely still avoiding Kenny."

"And Cartman's been pissy for some reason. He locked Tweek in the supply closet for so long he pissed himself and passed out screaming about gnomes. Craig's out for his blood."

Worried now, Kyle turned as much as he could considering Stan's grip on him had tightened and tried to read answers off Stan's face.

"What's wrong?"

Stan's expression was akin to that of a petulant child attempting to figure out why they couldn't have cookies before dinner. Kyle reached down and loosened his grip, then turned completely. The fever had melted his reservations. He didn't even hesitate before reaching up to cup Stan's cheek, running his thumb along it comfortingly.

"Super best friends, Stan. You can talk to me about anything."

Stan relaxed into the touch but his gaze lowered. "You and Wendy started hanging out in like sixth grade, right? After the motorcycle accident?"

Usually, Kyle would have taken the time to rant for the fiftieth time about how he'd fucking told Cartman motorcycles couldn't actually fly no matter what Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone said, but Stan looked too upset.

"Some time around then. Why?"

"Did you know she was… did you know she was in love with me?"

"…is that a trick question?"

"What?"

"_Everyone_ knew Wendy was in love with you. Almost as many people as who were convinced _you_ were in love with _me_." Kyle snorted. "Wendy was one of them, actually. She threatened my testicles so often I started to get scared she'd pay some Iraqis to shoot me into the sun."

Stan, if possible, looked twice as petulant as before. "Wendy threatened you?"

"Tons of times. I don't know if you've noticed, but she's kind of an attention whore." The storm clouds did not clear. Kyle's thumb stilled. "Dude, what's bothering you so much about this? You honestly didn't notice Wendy was in love with you?"

"No," and now Stan just looked plain uncomfortable. "And I'm kind of… confused."

"About what?"

"About _why_. I didn't really get a chance to ask her and I've been thinking about it all day… I mean, I know I'm not ugly or Cartman or anything, but _love_…"

"Plenty of people love you, Stan," Kyle said hesitantly. "Like your parents. Your parents love you. Shelley loves you in her own way. I—love you."

Stan rolled his eyes. "That's not the kind of love I'm talking about. I mean like love-love. Can't live, can't think, can't _breathe_ without you love."

"That sounds a lot like obsession—"

"The kind of love they make movies and songs and poems and books about. Epic be-all, end-all love. Hearing Wendy talk made me think for a moment that I might have had that with her, but that can't be right, can it? Half the time, I was only with her because she expected me to me. And you were busy."

"Mm."

Stan wasn't stupid. Eventually, he noticed Kyle intently studying his collarbone and asked the question that Kyle had been dreading.

"Have you ever been in love?"

Kyle had a quick moment in which he tried to come up with an appropriate answer, had a slight panic attack when he realized that his brain had gone to sleep at some point leaving him to fend for himself and forced himself to sneeze in order to cover for the long pause.

"Dude," he said at last. "I've only ever dated Rebecca and Bebe. Bebe twice, if you ask her."

Stan grinned. "That's true. I can't see you being in love with Bebe. I just… I don't know. I guess talking to Wendy just made me worried about us. I mean, if I was ever going to be in love with you, wouldn't it have happened already? And vice versa? We already know so much about one another. What could we possible find to love?"

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"No, no, of course not. But, you know, Kyle… I'm not forcing you into anything. You don't have to keep putting up with this just to satisfy _my _curiosity. If there's someone else you think you could fall in love with—_love-love_—we could end this all right now and still be friends."

"Your smile," Kyle said before he'd even realized the words had left his mouth.

"Huh?"

"I've always… liked your smile. It's more contagious than the common cold. And you being happy always had the odd side effect of making me happy too."

Stan raised a single eyebrow.

"And your eyes. I like the shade of blue they are and how they change colors in the light and how they catch every single switch in my mood _especially_ when I think you're not paying attention."

The other eyebrow joined the first.

"And," Kyle continued, aware now that he was babbling but only distantly aware. He felt detached, like he was paying half of his attention to a movie in which the main character just wouldn't shut up but he didn't care enough to yell at the screen. "I like how warm and sensitive you are, how you'd never hurt another living creature if you could help it, and how you always work to make sure everyone hanging around you is having a good time. Even the melvins.

"I like how you can just command the attention of everyone in a room without whining for it like Cartman. And how you always manage to think intelligently and eventually do the right thing, no matter how hard it is or how much trouble you're going to get in. And I like the way you always help me out, even when you think I'm overreacting and even when you know I'm being stupid, because sometimes I have to figure that stuff out on my own. I like how I can call you at three in the morning and you'll curse like a sailor, but you'd never even think of just hanging up the phone.

"I like how you buy me sugar-free and kosher food even though you know I don't give a shit about the latter and I'm barely conscious of the former and I like the way you take care of me when I'm sick and defend me when I'm not. You're one of the most dependable people I know and I—" He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I could totally fall in love with you if I tried. I really could."

Stan was silent for a long time. "Whoa, dude."

"Yeah," Kyle said sleepily, cuddling closer. "You're kind of awesome in case you didn't notice."

Stan was saying something—words, Kyle assumed—but Stan was also warm and Kyle felt so cozy and safe and also his body was screaming for him to recharge his batteries to fight off that pesky fever virus and Kyle was asleep seconds later with only the slightest, nagging feeling that he'd royally screwed up.

x

Grief was not something Cartman did well because that implied that he cared enough about someone or something other than himself enough to miss it when it was gone. Unless it was food or… mostly just food, Cartman had a hard time wondering why losing something made other people so damn upset.

Of course, that had been before he'd lost Wendy.

He wasn't sure if you could exactly lose something you'd never owned in the first place, but the closest Eric Cartman could come to grief was the feeling of losing something you'd put actual effort into getting. Like the time he'd tried to get a platinum album before Kyle only to realize he'd only get as far as myrrh. Or the time he'd tried to get Pluto reinstated as a planet just to prove a point to Kyle and had inadvertently blown up the damn thing moments before succeeding. That kind of grief was the kind Cartman felt frequently with people like Kyle Broflovski in the world.

Most of his Wendy-related machinations had gone unnoticed, especially by her, but the one time—_the only time_—Cartman had been openly nice to her, it had sent her running into Token's arms. He honestly didn't understand women. What bitch wouldn't be glad to get a break from school to see a new country? And Wendy had seemed like the type to enjoy staring at old Mexican buildings all day. He had no idea where he'd gone wrong.

"Maybe you should have paid for her plane ticket," Kenny suggested as they shared a cigarette in Cartman's backyard. Usually, Cartman didn't go to Kenny with his problems because Kenny was a poor asshole who was too busy fishing dirty clothes and old food out of trashcans to give half a fuck about anyone else, but he was desperate and Butters' advice had proved itself to be useless. Besides, if Kenny pissed him off, Cartman could kill him without any legal repercussions. Everyone won. "That seemed like it was one of her major concerns."

Cartman took a long drag of the cigarette before passing it back to Kenny. "Seems to me like I'd just be paying extra to listen to her bitching. That ho bitches at me no matter what I do, so what's the point in wasting money on her? When you pay for a girl, she's supposed to at least blow you, not go around running her mouth off."

"You could try just being nice."

Cartman stared at him. The one time he'd tried being nice to Kyle, Kyle had slammed a door in his face, claiming that Cartman had no idea what being nice even meant. Wendy was basically like Kyle with a vagina and less money so he didn't see it going any differently. Besides, that was the same bullshit he'd gotten from Butters.

"Sorry," Kenny sighed. "Forgot who I was talking to."

"I haven't got any fancy clothes to wear and, even if I did, I don't see how that'll help. Maybe I should just smack her around a bit. It works for pimps."

"Yeah, I'm so sure Wendy would appreciate you treating her like a prostitute. God, it's a wonder she's not jumping in line to bone you already."

"I know, right?" Cartman sniffed. "Stupid ho."

Kenny laughed in that hollow, pathetic way he'd grown accustomed to laughing ever since Butters had dumped his ass. Cartman didn't know much about fags, other than his constant, forced observations of the hippie and the Jew, but he did know a few things about pussies. He spent tons of time with Butters, after all. And Butters had definitely turned Kenny into a pussy. Kenny was chain-smoking like a balding, forty-eight year old nicotine addict who had nothing left but the need and his entire face sagged like a pregnant woman who hadn't gotten her figure back yet. It was really pathetic. And annoying. But mostly pathetic. He didn't know who he wanted to smack harder: Kenny or Butters.

"Dude, if this is going to distract you from _me_ and _my_ problems, then you need to fucking do something about Butters," Cartman said at last, gesturing lazily. "Like, for instance, I can hold him down _nyah_ and you can bash his skull in over _nyah_ and we can hide the body in his parents' bed so they'll be too freaked out to have another one."

The thing about Kenny was that he'd spent so much time listening to Cartman that, unlike Stan or Kyle or Wendy, he was far beyond being surprised by the depths of Cartman's hatred for other people. So, rather than reprimanding him, Kenny just snubbed out the cigarette and whipped out another one, loosening the strings on his parka so he could stick the cigarette in his mouth.

"I really don't want to talk about it, Cartman."

"Like I give half a shit what you want, Kenny," Cartman snapped as he supplied the lighter. "First of all, I'm going to do you a favor and forget for a minute that you're mooning over _Butters_. I mean, I would expect this from Butters, but I thought you were cool."

Kenny's eyes rolled upwards, but Cartman ignored him.

"Second of all, you're letting Butters pull you around by the dick. First you let him break up with you like this is some kind pansy-ass chick flick in which the boy gets down on the first date, rips his testicles off, and goes, 'Here, you can have them and I'll get you your whip tomorrow' or whatever. That was your first mistake. But now you're just letting him chop your dick in half—whip pending—and that's just shameful. It's fucking Butters, man. Smack him in the face and tell him to go make you some brownies in his easy bake oven."

Kenny smiled fondly and Cartman remembered in disgust that Butters still owned and used a damn easy bake oven.

"Are you planning to sell your sister into white slavery to pay for your sex change operation or are you just going to grab a hack saw and do it the good old fashioned way, you giant pussy?"

Kenny stole the cigarette from Cartman's hands and inhaled damn near half of it. "You wouldn't know this, because your idea of love is _not_ killing someone and being thanked for the honor, but the way I feel about Butters isn't something that can be solved by smacking him around. I couldn't hurt him like that."

"Hurt him in other ways, then," Cartman said because it was so obvious Kenny had to be an idiot not to see it. "Tell him his ass looks fat in his jeans. Run over his bike. Break his easy bake oven. There are a zillion different ways to hurt someone without touching them. I should know." He smirked proudly. "I've done all of them."

"Yeah, but, mercifully, I'm not you."

"Which is why you're sitting on _you're_ a high school dropout living in the ghetto, sitting in someone else's backyard, smoking a cigarette and moaning about how you got dumped by a boy who cried because _Pirates of the Caribbean _was too scary for him and _I'm_ star of the hockey team, the proud owner of a chain of theme parks, and have money overseas in a Swiss bank."

Kenny frowned.

"…and, despite the fact that my bitch threw me over for some black asshole, I'm _still_ richer than you. And that's what matters in this life, Kenny. Money and how much more of it you have than other people."

The smile Kenny gave him was exasperated, but it was still more real than any smile Cartman had seen Kenny give all week. They bumped fists as Kenny finished the last of the cigarette and blew it all out in a rather ominous looking cloud of smoke.

"Ain't that the truth."

x

Butters wasn't paying too close attention to the people walking in and out of the animal shelter which was why he didn't notice Kenny approaching until it was too late for him to hide. He was flipping through a copy of _Highlights_, keeping an ear out to make sure the puppies weren't fussing, when a shadow fell across the magazine. He closed the magazine and looked up to smile brightly, but the smile froze and fell at the sight of Kenny's cool stare.

"O-Oh," Butters mumbled. "Hamburgers."

He expected Kenny to ask him any of a number of things (Why have you been avoiding me? Why don't you return any of my phone calls? Why did you kiss me back?) but instead of any of those, he simply glanced over Butters' shoulder at the animals and asked, "What kind of dogs do you have?"

Butters blinked. Slowly. "You wanna adopt a puppy?"

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"I'ah—no, 'course not. Let me just…" Butters gave Kenny a furtive glance, then undid the hatch to allow him behind the counter. "Let's take a look and see if you find one that you like."

This would have usually been about the point that Kenny would waggle his eyebrows suggestively, look Butters up and down, and tease that he had already found one that he'd liked and wanted to take home right away, but that was before. Now Kenny just glowered at the floor silently while Butters mashed his knuckles together and wondered why he was so gosh darn stupid.

"What kind of dog were you thinking about adopting?" Butters asked once they'd reached the cages. And not a moment too soon, either, because the silence had been rapidly approaching unbearable.

"I don't know," The formality with which Kenny spoke was almost painful. "Which kind do you recommend?"

Butters bit his lower lip. "I'ah like the golden retrievers myself. They're real playful."

"What's your favorite dog in here?" Kenny asked apropos of nothing. "The one you sneak extra bowls of food to even though it makes you feel guilty enough to overfeed the other dogs, too, so they don't know you're playing favorites. Which one's that?"

Butters really shouldn't have been as astonished as he was by that. He didn't need to tell Kenny things like that; Kenny seemed to know him inside and out without even trying with an attention to detail that would shock any single one of his previous teachers. He was even willing to bet that Kenny knew him even better than his own diary did. Kenny knew everything except what was in Butters' heart and, god willing, Butters wasn't sharing _that_ any time soon.

He swallowed. "W-Well, he's right over here."

Reluctantly, he led Kenny over to Sunday's cage where, as Kenny had said, the small yellow puppy was nibbling at an overfilled bowl of dog food. Kenny crouched down in front of the cage, peering at Sunday speculatively, while Butters fidgeted nervously next to him. He hated having Kenny sore at him. Maybe he should just apologize. But then Kenny would want an explanation and Butters really didn't even want to think about that kiss. He didn't want to think about how soft and warm Kenny's lips had felt against his, about how familiar and right it had been, about how it had brought back and wave of memories that made heat pool in his stomach… Like late nights spent exploring one another sometimes in slow, reverent motions and sometimes in quick, desperate moves where too much was not enough. Or long days spent talking about every subject under the sun, skirting the rougher topics like Butters' parents and Kenny's financial situation with a mutual understanding that sometimes life just sucked and there was nothing you could do about it. Or watching movies and finding something to love (Butters) and something shaped like a penis (Kenny). Or…

Oh, great, now he was thinking about it.

Kenny stood, putting him out of his misery. "I'll take this one. What's its name?"

"H-He didn't come with a name…"

Kenny gave him a baleful look.

"…but I call him Sunday."

"Sunday?" Kenny said blankly, returning his eyes to the dog before realization dawned on him. "Oh. Butterscotch sundae. Cute."

Butters stepped past him to open the cage and let Sunday out, smiling softly when the puppy immediately ran up to him and circled his legs happily. Sunday was the happiest, most energetic puppy in the shelter, which was especially unusually because Sunday had also been there the longest. According to Janet, the woman who owned the shelter, Sunday had been found in the building the same day she'd decided to buy it. Butters had no idea why he hadn't been adopted before this, but if it hadn't been for the fact that his parents had told him that he'd be grounded if he brought home stray animals he would have taken Sunday long ago. He supposed Kenny having the dog was the next best thing…

"He sure seems to like you," Kenny said as he watched Sunday pant and wag his tail happily. "You've obviously been spoiling him."

"Only a little. Here, boy." Sunday jumped up into Butters' arms and Butters carried him back to the front, digging through the drawer for the adoption papers with his free hand. Kenny moved to his rightful place on the other side of the counter and accepted the pen and papers, going through them slowly. Sunday seemed to realize he was leaving and barked happily. "Hey, Kenny…"

Kenny's tone did not invite questions. "What?"

"I'ah… I was just wondering…" Kenny passed the papers back and Butters hesitated only a moment before hanging over Sunday. "How come you're adopting a dog?"

The smile that crossed Kenny's face was anything but pleasant. In fact, it was downright humorless.

"Well, first of all, I wanted a friend I could count on not to run away," he said viciously, seeming to delight in Butters' flinch. "And, second of all… I just really wanted to take away something _you_ love for once."

Feeling his heart pounding in his ears, Butters swallowed. "I ain't never taken away something you loved."

Kenny threw his head back and laughed as he left, but it, like his smile, was humorless. Butters looked from left to right, unsure just what to do with himself, then instinctively returned to mashing his knuckles together.

"Oh, _hamburgers_…"

x

"I'm really not understanding what your problem is," Bebe said for the fourteenth time since Wendy had tried explaining it to her.

Bebe was sitting on the bed in her room while Wendy sat on the floor, watching foot after foot of her waist-length hair fall to the floor. Bebe was snipping it down to shoulder-length so that Wendy could donate it all to Locks of Love and Wendy was flipping through _Cosmo_ while trying to explain to Bebe exactly why Eric Cartman was such a complete and utter asshole. It wasn't really going well.

"I mean, yeah, he made you waste your money on a plane ticket, but, _damn_, Wendy. Mexico? He let you sight-see all around Mexico for a week and all you had to do was pay for the plane ticket and sit in on a business meeting?" Bebe whistled. "Plus, he paid your way back _and_ paid some kid to do your homework for you while you were gone? I wish Cartman would be a dick to _me_."

"It's Cartman," Wendy muttered angrily. "He probably blackmailed Dougie into doing my homework."

"Either way…"

Bebe's evaluation of the situation made it seem a lot less despicable than it actually had been and Wendy was incredibly displeased by that. After all, Bebe was supposed to be _her_ best friend, not the president of the Team Cartman fan club. She had no idea what the hell was wrong with all the girls who were busy throwing themselves at him just because he was kind of hot now. It was like they'd completely forgotten all those times he'd nearly killed a bunch of people (and those couple of times he _had_). Was Wendy the only one with a fucking conscience anymore?

Red pushed open the door with her hip and entered with a tray of lemonade and a pensive expression. Bebe considered herself, Wendy, and Red to be the holy trinity of girldom the way Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny were like the foursome of sexihood (Bebes words, not Wendy's) and liked to interject Red into the precious best friend time even though Bebe knew Wendy's opinion of Red had lowered after she'd waited three days after the breakup to ask Wendy if it was okay to pursue Stan romantically. Once Red had gotten out of the hospital, things had never really been the same between them.

But it was Bebe's house and Bebe's rules. Wendy would just have to put up with it.

"You know, all the girls think Cartman's got the hots for you," Red said as she handed each girl a glass of lemonade and then made herself comfortable on the bed with her own. "He's usually got a two day period. Two days in which he'll court you before he gets lazy and loses interest and two days after the fuck in which he decides whether or not he wants to see more of you. And he usually doesn't. But he's been after you since, like, third grade."

"Cartman's not 'after me'," Wendy corrected. "He's just been a consistent pain in everyone's ass, not just mine."

Bebe giggled. "I bet he'd like to be a pain in yours. Exclusively."

Since Wendy couldn't move her head for fear of having one handful of her hair significantly shorter than the rest, her glare was rendered ineffective.

"I'm not stupid, Bebe. If Cartman had the hots for me, I'd know it. And, anyway, it doesn't matter, because I have a boyfriend and Cartman's an asshole."

"I'm so jealous of you, Wendy," Red sighed, laying back against the pillows. "Token Black is _such_ a catch."

Wendy bit her tongue to keep from asking how long it would be until Red tried to steal him, too.

"How are things going with Token, anyway? I see the two of you making out publically at least once a day. I thought you weren't into that stuff. Something about not wanting to put your relationship on display for the sick amusement of voyeurs and perverts because you've got nothing to prove and blah blah blah female empowerment and equal rights?"

Wendy huffed. "Beliefs aren't beliefs unless they're challenged. That particular belief didn't hold up under the skill of Token's… defense."

The argument sounded weak even to her own ears, but Bebe and Red did nothing more than giggle and start praising Token's everything-under-the-sun. That was the other downside to having Red around; Bebe started acting just like her. Wendy tuned them out and wondered when she turned into such a lying, two-faced hypocrite. She was almost as bad as Cartman.

No, she amended, she was nowhere near as bad as Cartman. Besides, half of this was Cartman's fault anyway. If he'd just stopped being an asshole for even five seconds of his life, then maybe things wouldn't have worked out this way. Cartman was like a little spot on the blank canvas of her life. Token, on the other hand, was nice and smart and dependable and perfectly kind in a way that Cartman could never be. She was doing the right thing.

Wasn't she?

"Are you guys exchanging Christmas gifts?" Red asked excitedly, breaking Wendy out of her stupor. "You should totally get him a Rolex. He'd look so good in a Rolex."

"Token has, like, fifty Rolexes. You should get him a knock-off Rolex. Bet he doesn't have plenty of those."

"Or I could get him nothing because we haven't been dating long enough to exchange Christmas presents."

Bebe and Red fell silent. More of her hair tumbled to the ground. Wendy tried to be just a little less bitchy.

"He's on the basketball team with Kyle. Maybe I could have Kyle pump him for information about what his perfect Christmas gift would be."

"Speaking of Kyle…" Wendy felt Bebe move and assumed Red had nudged her with her foot. "How are things going with him? Has he figured out you want in his boxers yet?"

"Kyle's dating Stan now," Bebe said shortly, her cuts becoming more aggressive. "So, no."

Red gasped. "Wait, what? Since when?"

Wendy rolled her eyes even though she'd just found out last month. "Circa pre-K, Rebecca. Pay attention."

"They just went public with it this year if that makes you feel better, Red," Bebe soothed with a disapproving undertone Wendy knew was entirely for her. "Anyway, I don't know how serious they are yet. It might still be okay for me to flirt with Kyle at my party. Kenny swears he got Kyle to agree to go."

"I don't know… Kyle batting for the other team is one thing, but with Stan? The Apocalypse couldn't pry those two away from each other when they were friends. What makes you think you stand a chance now that they're dating?"

"I don't," Bebe murmured, cutting the last of Wendy's hair. "But there's no harm in trying, is there?"

Wendy gathered her hair into a zip-lock bag silently, feeling bad for Bebe while, at the same time, knowing instinctively that Bebe had absolutely no shot with Kyle. That window of opportunity had been cracked at best but now it had been bolted shut. Now that Kyle had Stan, and vice versa, she couldn't see either of them letting the other one go. The best Bebe could hope for was a nonviolent response from Stan for trying to steal his boyfriend. And, considering how much of a pussy Stan was, that prospect was looking pretty good.

x

It started on a Wednesday, right after basketball practice.

Not much practice had actually gotten done, because, in light of his brand spanking new relationship with Wendy, Token had spent less time playing and more time bragging to the other guys while Kyle, a little more focused, scored shot after shot. The end result was that the rest of the time had had to stay after to do drills and make up for all the time wasted while Kyle got to hit the showers alone. Which was when he saw the note stuck to his locker.

The first thing he noticed was that it was Stan's handwriting, which made him a little nervous because he and Stan hadn't talked much since he'd gotten back to school. Not about anything important, anyway, and Stan always looked really distracted during their conversations. Kyle wondered if this was why.

_Reason 15: I like your hair, especially the way it looks after practice. It's damp and lifeless for about an hour then, at some point during the drive home, it springs back to life. Don't be embarrassed. You're cute when you blush, too._

Kyle read the note five times before he managed to absorb anything and then he was just plain bewildered. His cheeks had reddened against his will and his mind, blissfully repressing everything until now, supplied him with an image of himself confessing to Stan roughly one-twelfth of the reasons he was so in love with him.

When the other boys finally got to the locker room, Kyle was still banging his head against a wall.

x

"What is this?"

Stan closed his locker slowly, trying to keep the shit-eating grin off his face. Kyle was angry, which was his default emotion whenever he was feeling confused, and was brandishing a piece of paper in his hand that Stan didn't have to be a brain surgeon to identify. He slipped his bag onto his shoulder with utmost innocence.

"It's paper. Made from trees. Ask Wendy about it. She might rant herself into a stupor."

Kyle glared at him until he stopped laughing.

"Okay, _okay_." Stan spun his combination lock and then leaned against the locker and looked down at Kyle with a solemn expression. Kyle's curls were flattened against his head, dripping wet from the shower he'd just taken, and he was wearing a white shirt and jeans with his basketball practice duffel thrown over one shoulder. His skin was also pink, probably from the hot water, and, if Stan looked really close, he could even see the smattering of Kyle's freckles on his nose.

"You're staring," Kyle pointed out, skin getting pinker. "Now explain to me what the hell this note was all about."

Stan shook himself back to the present, the grin returning. "That note is one of twenty-three things I like about you. Obviously. I've stuck 'em all over the place, so. Have fun with that."

"But this is number fifteen."

"Well, there are twenty-three of them." Stan shrugged. "Collect them and order them yourself."

That was not entirely true. There were twenty-three things that Stan had come up with over the course of the last few days, yes, but there were actually only twenty-two notes. The twenty-third note, or the first one depending on how you looked at it, was still in his pocket, blank. The number one thing he liked about Kyle seemed a little too momentous not to give it as much thought as possible. Kyle may have sprung all of that on him while in a fevered haze and then fallen asleep on him when he tried to stumble his way through reciprocation, but that didn't mean Stan didn't owe it to him to think about it.

_I could totally fall in love with you if I tried,_ Kyle had said and Stan still didn't know what love was, but Kyle was his most important person which meant that Stan owed it to him to try.

"You're staring," Kyle pointed out again. "If you're not careful, I might start thinking you like me or something."

"Well, you _are_ my boyfriend."

Stan smiled as he leaned down and explored Kyle's mouth languidly, pleased when Kyle melted against him with a moan. His fingers reached up to tangle in Kyle's damp curls and also to tilt his head back to give his tongue easier access to Kyle's mouth. Kyle kind of tasted like ass or stale lunchmeat, but Stan managed to ignore that in the wake of the pleasurable tingles that shot up his spine every time Kyle's tongue brushed against his.

He was just getting ready to move his lips a bit lower when he was suddenly physically hoisted away from Kyle and turned around to face an annoyed Eric Cartman.

"God_damn_it, you guys, can't you keep your tongue out of each other's mouths for five fucking seconds?" Cartman snapped, letting go of Stan to glare at Kyle. "You better not try and pull this shit at my house or I'll put you both outside with the trash and the crack whores."

"You mean like your mom?" Kyle quipped innocently. Stan snickered.

"FUCK YOU, KYLE!"

Both Stan and Kyle were surprised when Cartman went at Kyle with all the enthusiasm of a boxer in a headline fight. Stan got between them before Cartman could land the first punch. Kyle had just recovered from being sick a few days ago. He didn't need a split lip on top of that.

"Dude, what's your problem?" Stan asked as he shifted to keep Cartman's flailing limbs from getting anywhere near Kyle. He was genuinely curious despite the fact that his heart was pounding a little fast from the strain and adrenaline rush. "Anger management works wonders for people, you know. You should see what it did for my sister."

Cartman tried one more time to get around Stan before he gave up, wiped a hand across his mouth, and glared at nothing. "I fucking hate you, Kyle. I hope you fucking die."

Stan looked behind him, heart rate slowing when he saw that Kyle was standing two lockers away, safely out of harm's reach. He hadn't realized how scared he'd been until then, when Kyle approached them again with a look of amused gratitude in his eyes and Stan's entire body seemed to sag in relief.

"It's almost time for Kenny to get off from work," Stan said when I looked as though Cartman was not feeling any real pressing desire to explain himself. "Let's go pick him up and watch crappy action movies until our heads explode."

"Sounds good to me," Kyle agreed, waiting until Cartman had turned and started walking before he reached over and took Stan's hand. Stan felt the warmth radiating from the point of impact and forced down a smile, thanking whatever god had invented dating your best friend.

x

It wasn't until the last day before winter break that the academic tension came to a head and most of it was radiating from Wendy Testaburger and Kyle Broflovski. They were sitting side by side in their final class, listening to Mr. Garrison go on and on and on about the birth of some whore's baby on some soap opera, passing notes more rapidly than one might expect from people who spent more time taking them.

Wendy had started it, slipping a note under Kyle's arm and onto his desk that said, _DID YOU GET YOUR SCORES YET?_

Kyle had immediately blew a crumpled piece of paper in her direction that said, _No, have you?_

_I'M WORRIED,_ Wendy had responded._ WHAT IF THEY'RE KEEPING THEM BECAUSE WE FAILED? _

_Then I will commit seppuku in lieu of going home and you will get to be my best friend and cut my head off for me because Stan hates blood._

_EXTREMETIES ASIDE, MAYBE WE SHOULD ASK PRINCIPAL VICTORIA. OR CONGRESS._

_That's your idea of extremities aside? Why don't we just ask Mr. Garrison?_

At which point Wendy's hand shot into the air. Kyle stifled a smile, shaking his head at the questioning look Stan was giving him, and waiting until Mr. Garrison stopped discussing the miracle of childbirth long enough to notice Wendy's hand.

"Yes, Wendy? You got another one of those 'women things' you want to bitch about?"

"No, Mr. Garrison," Cartman said calmly from somewhere to Kyle's left. "Wendy just wants the class to know that, even though she let Token feel her up in front of the entire hockey team for fifteen minutes straight yesterday afternoon, she is not a whore. She prefers the term 'empowered individual'."

"Shut the fuck up, Cartman," Wendy and Token said simultaneously.

"F-Fifteen minutes?" Butters asked, brows raised. "Boy, you two sure have endurance."

"Not really," Stan inputted. "Just the other day, Kyle and I were_—OW_." He rubbed his arm and glared at Kyle. "What the hell, dude?"

Kyle brought the side conversation to a close with a swift, "Mr. Garrison, do you know why we haven't gotten our PSAT scores back yet?"

"Your what now?" Mr. Garrison said blankly before a metaphorical light bulb went off over his head. "Oh, right, those. I knew I'd forgotten something, but I figured it was just to preset the TiVo…" He rummaged through his desk and pulled out a stack of very official-looking envelopes. "Come up here when I call your name."

Kyle and Wendy exchanged glances and even sighed in unison, wondering why they seemed to get stuck with Mr. Garrison for a teacher every single year without fail. Kyle knew for a fact that there were other teachers at this school. He'd even seen a couple of them. But, no, every single year he was stuck with Mr. Garrison.

He felt something warm close around his hand and looked to his left to see Stan raising his eyebrows and mouthing, "Good luck" with a smile. Kyle smiled as well, squeezing Stan's hand lightly before letting go. He felt eyes on him, but ignored it. If he wanted to be affectionate with his fake boyfriend then that was totally his business.

Wendy's name was called before him and he saw her receiving similar treatment from Token, though she looked a lot more embarrassed about it than Kyle would feel in her place. He didn't have much time to think about that before his own name was called and that envelope blocked out any other thoughts from his mind.

"Alright," Mr. Garrison said once he'd handed out the last envelope. "You're all dismissed. Have a nice Christmas break, except for you, Kyle and Token, because you two don't celebrate Jesus' birthday and are, therefore, going to hell."

"I celebrate Christmas," Token tried to protest, but it went unheard by the bell and the chatter of the kids around him. Kyle, who was a little too busy studying his PSAT scores like they held the secret to life, was used to these sentiments from Mr. Garrison and just didn't bother anymore.

He waited impatiently for Stan to gather up his things, then headed outside where Wendy was waiting equally impatiently for him.

"What'd you get?" they said at the same time, then simply traded score sheets rather than bothering to respond.

Wendy had topped his score by a paltry three points, but Kyle was a little too impressed to be jealous. And, judging from the look on her face, she was too impressed to be smug.

Butters exited the classroom, biting his lip as he read his score sheet. His whole posture screamed worry.

"What's wrong, Butters?" Wendy asked softly. "Didn't you do well?"

"W-Well, I'ah suppose I did, but… my parents said if I didn't get a perfect score, I'd get grounded. I was just a hundred points away!"

Stan put a hand on his shoulder although the three of them were only sympathetic because Butters' parents were uncle fuckers and not because Butters had been a hundred points short of a perfect score.

"I'll let you cross out my name and write yours on my score sheet, if you want, Butters," Cartman gloated as he joined the ground, score sheet held high. "Because _I_ got a perfect score on the PSATs."

"No fucking way!" Kyle burst out. "Let me see!"

Cartman allowed him to snatch the paper and Kyle studied closely for any sign of error or counterfeiting, but it looked legit. And, once he'd confirmed that, he was just plain angry. Eric Cartman had gotten a perfect score on the PSATs? Eric Cartman? Was there no god?

"So, if any of you idiots need tutoring or just want to know where you went wrong, I'll be at a MENSA meeting with the rest of the smart people. Bye, assholes. _Adios, puta_."

Wendy bristled at the last part, but she pressed her lips together instead of commenting. Cartman snatched his scores back and headed down the hallway whistling. Kyle stomped down on the urge to run after him and kick him in the back of his big, fat, stupid head.

"Yeah, well," Stan said once the silence had carried on broken only by Butters' hushed mutters. "I'm supposed to drop by the gym before I leave and talk to coach about next season so I'll catch you guys later. And if not later then definitely at Bebe's party."

Kyle didn't remember agreeing to go to Bebe's party, but he couldn't, in good conscience, let Stan suffer through it alone. Especially since people got very, very drunk at Bebe's parties and Kyle already had to worry about Kenny trying to get into Stan's pants when he was sober. Realistically, he knew Kenny would never do that to him, drunk or sober, especially in the kind of funk he'd been in all month, but still. There were still all the girls in the class and all the repressed homosexuality radiating off the other guys on Stan's football team.

"Can I get a ride home with you, Kyle?" Wendy said urgently, handing Kyle back his score sheet and adjusting her hat on her head. He nodded absently, going over his scores again.

It never even occurred to him that Stan hadn't breathed a word about his.

x

Kyle found the second note taped to the underside of his pillow.

_Reason five: I like that you can speak Hebrew. I have no idea what the fuck you're saying, but I play that moment from your bar mitzvah over and over and it never stops being hot._

Stan answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Really? Hebrew? _Really_?"

"Dude, I'm in the middle of dinner," Stan said with a laugh. "Now is totally not the time for phone sex."

"_Really_?"

"We can talk about this later." His voice lowered to a husky grumble that went straight to Kyle's dick. "But, yes. So brush up on it, okay?"

Kyle was still stumbling his way through a response when Stan hung up the phone.

x

Bebe's party took place on Christmas Eve and someone broke out the keg and spiked all the punch not even an hour in. She was wearing a mid-thigh length red skirt with a black belt and a white sweater coupled with black boots and a Santa hat. Her makeup was minimal, her hopes were high, and, godammit, she was going to get Kyle to pay attention to her even if it killed her. She had harassed Wendy into helping her by keeping Stan distracted for awhile and zeroed in on Kyle, who was talking about basketball with Token by the snack table. Bebe checked her hair one more time, inhaled sharply, then headed over with an entirely intentional sway to her hips.

Of course, Token was the only one who notices because Kyle was too busy sucking down spiked punch to see her coming. Bebe tried not to let it get to her, placing a dainty hand on Kyle's shoulder and gazing up at him playfully.

"Looking to get wasted tonight, are you?" she asked, putting just the right lilt to her voice. "Well, you're in the right place."

Kyle set down his cup. "Hi, Bebe."

"You sure know how to throw a good party, Bebe," Token said, tipping his cup in her direction. "We've needed one of these all year."

"Mm," Bebe's hand slid from Kyle's shoulder to his upper arm. "Wow, basketball has been really good to you guys. You've bulked up, Broflovski."

"I have?" Kyle glanced down at his arm with an infuriating amount of disinterest. "I guess that makes sense considering I'm the only one who gets any actual work done anymore. Especially with Token bragging about his girlfriend all the time."

"Is he making you long for one of your own?" she asked, but went unheard over Token's laugh.

"Don't be jealous, Kyle," Token teased, swallowing what was left of his drink. "You had your chance with Wendy and you chose her ex-boyfriend."

"Wendy and I were never like that. I wouldn't date my best friend's ex-girlfriend."

"But you have no qualms about dating Wendy's ex-boyfriend even now that the two of you are friends?"

Kyle's cheeks were red. "There are extenuating circumstances."

"What extenuating circumstances? It's you and Stan. That's pretty much all the explanation anyone in this town needs."

Kyle's face was getting even redder and Bebe could see where this was going despite the effort she was going to put in to prevent it. She slid herself in between Token and Kyle, pressed a hand to Kyle's forehead, and tried to act surprised. "Wow, Kyle, you look sick. Let me take your temperature."

Ignoring his protests, she grabbed his arm and led him through the crowd, up the stairs, and to the privacy of her bedroom.

Kyle was eyeing her warily when she finished locking the door. Even his male denseness couldn't stop him from figuring out that she hadn't brought him there to take his temperature. She hadn't brought him there for what he was probably thinking (well, unless _he_ wanted to) but this had nothing to do with his personal health and more to do with hers.

"So," she said casually, or as casually as she could manage. "How are you and Stan doing?"

Kyle started blushing all over again, staring at the ground with a slight smile. "Fine. Good. Actually, great. Better than I imagined anyway." He seemed to remember who he was talking to and folded his arms, scowl ready and waiting. "Why?"

Bebe bit her lip, for once not trying to be coy. "Because I… I still… I really like you and I guess I was hoping maybe I had a chance. With you," she added, just in case Kyle's male denseness decided to kick in. "Romantically."

The fact that Kyle looked genuinely surprised was like a smack to the face. Was he really that dense or was she just horribly bad at getting his attention? Both maybe?

"Oh, um," Kyle said awkwardly. "I've—I've got a boyfriend. So."

"You had a boyfriend when we were dating, too, except you guys didn't call it that." Bebe muttered. "Do you even realize how many of our double dates I spent with Wendy while you and Stan eye-fucked each other the whole time?"

"Stan and I never eye-fucked each other—"

"Except for how you totally did!" And she wasn't muttering anymore, her arms thrown up in frustration, eyes tearing, voice getting progressively louder. "Fuck, Kyle, what the hell is your problem? I'm _right fucking here_ and all you can ever think or talk about is Stan, Stan, Stan like no one else is willing to be there for you when you're sick or follow your ass to Peru or buy you sugar-free kosher snacks! Did you ever think that maybe you and Stan are so close because he's the _only one_ you'll let get that close? Because god knows I've tried! I've tried so goddamn hard, but you're so stuck on Stan that I might as well be invisible! I'm sorry I tried to shoot you that one time, okay? I was young and stupid and shoe-less then, but I'm standing here and telling you that I want you so the least you could do is stop giving me the same bullshit excuses!"

"Bebe," his voice had gotten soft and his eyes were brimming with pity and that was just the worst part right there. "It's not like… maybe under different circumstances…"

"Shut up!"

She surged forward before she could stop herself, grabbing Kyle by the shirt and pulling him down. Their lips met wrong at her, her teeth cutting his lip, his nose bumping her cheek, but then she tilted her head and took advantage of his gasp of pain to slip her tongue into his mouth. And, for a moment, it was familiar. For a moment, it was right.

But then Kyle was struggling against her, cursing against her mouth, and Bebe could feel his resistance in every motion. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes and she swiped her tongue one more time before putting him out of his misery and pulling away. The tears fell unbidden.

"I'm sorry, I—"

They were interrupted by a wide yawn and whirled around to see a damp and disoriented Kenny sitting up in Bebe's bed. There was a half-empty bottle of vodka in bed with him.

He scratched the side of his head with hooded eyes. "This is so fucking awkward. Do you think maybe you guys could have this conversation elsewhere? You know, where I'm not forced to listen to every word of it?"

Kyle cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yeah, well, it's kind of over, anyway. Like I said, Bebe, I have a boyfriend so… please don't kiss me again."

Bebe watched him slip from the room with an overwhelming sense of loss, wanting to strangle Kenny but knowing it wasn't really his fault. The conversation had been failing even before he'd woken from his drunken stupor. She sat down on the edge of the bed, covering her face with her hands, and tried to keep from sobbing.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Kenny said, settling in beside her. "Wanna die, don't you?"

"You reek of alcohol."

"This is why. If you're smart, you'll go downstairs, drink as much as you can, and pray through the hangover and/or alcohol poisoning that you don't remember any of this in the morning." He sighed. "I sure wish I could forget."

On any other day, Bebe might have asked him what had him so down, but she was far too wrapped up in her own misery to give half a crap about Kenny's. And, anyway, she was still kind of mad at him.

"Give me that bottle," she said, reaching for the vodka and downing the rest. "It's time to forget my own damn name."

x

From the way Kyle apprehended Stan to drag him into a corner and kiss him like the world was ending and from the fact that Bebe hadn't come back downstairs yet, Wendy was willing to bet she had struck out big time. A part of her wanted to go upstairs and console her friend, but another, larger part had seen Cartman sneaking outside with a box and a bottle and she had a civic duty to make sure neither of those objects would help him conspire to wreak havoc upon the innocent or whatever else it was he did all day.

Wendy wound her way through the crowd, nodding at Token as he waved at her from where he was sitting on the couch between Craig and Clyde, and slipped outside.

Cartman was lighting up, box and bottle at his feet. Wendy grabbed the cigarette before he could finish, putting it out under her foot. "Smoking kills and even _your_ fat ass doesn't deserve to die like that."

"I thought you weren't talking to me," he said, taking a seat against the wall and grabbing the bottle. It was grey goose and also half-empty. "I was kind of enjoying the lack of your constant bitching."

Wendy took a seat next to him, unsure why she wasn't just heading back inside. Well, that was a lie. She knew exactly why she wasn't. She just wished she had enough sense to listen to her better judgment. "Were you really? I thought half the fun of doing something bad was pissing off other people. Isn't that how it works in your little world?"

"If that helps you sleep at night, ho."

She might have been imagining it, but Cartman seemed oddly agreeable. Maybe it was the spirit of Christmas or perhaps she was just too happy to be annoyed, but he wasn't insulting her as fiercely as usual and she wasn't as sensitive as usual and, besides, it was kind of nice to get a break from all the drama going on inside. And Token. Especially Token.

"Does it seem like everybody's romantically involved with everybody else all of a sudden?" Wendy asked cautiously, unsure where she was even going with this line in conversation. "I mean… Craig and Tweek… Stan and Kyle… Kenny and Butters…"

"You and Token," Cartman sounded indifferent but his hands were twitching. Wendy chalked that up to the nicotine addiction. "We've only got a year and a half of school left. If there's someone you've always wanted to knock up, do it now while you still have the option of going to college in a state far enough away to ignore letters demanding child support. Obviously."

"I guess," Wendy sighed, picking out the important parts of what Cartman had just said. "I don't know. It just feels like our lives have gotten way more dramatic lately."

"As opposed to what? I just put down some zombie Mexicans two months ago and you think _this_ is dramatic?"

She giggled. "True. We _are_ in South Park."

"Not for long," Cartman took a swig of the vodka and held it out for her. "To Harvard."

"I don't really—" Wendy looked up into his eyes, saw the challenge there, then curled her fingers around the bottle. "Oh, what the hell. To Harvard."

It burned going down, but in a way that made her head spin pleasantly. Wendy wasn't really one for heavy drinking, preferring champagne if anything at all. That and most kids were total idiots when they were drunk. However, things were going so reasonably well that she didn't want to ruin it by "climbing on her fucking high horse" as Cartman would usually put it. Besides, it was just a toast.

Cartman grinned, impressed. "Never thought you had it in you, Testaburger."

"There's a lot you only think you know about me, Cartman," she teased. Or flirted. Was she flirting? It felt like she was flirting. "Maybe it's a night for breaking misconceptions."

Cartman hummed his approval and didn't stop or interrupt her when she began to talk about the PSATs and what her score meant for her chances to get into Harvard. She had expected him to at least take a moment to gloat, but he just watched her with varying levels of interest and curiosity until Wendy began to feel so self-conscious that she stopped talking and started fidgeting.

Then he smiled—an actual, genuine smile—and she was just bewildered. And slightly terrified. "Oh my god, what did you do? There was poison in the booze, wasn't there? Oh god, there was, wasn't there?"

"_Ey_," Cartman huffed. "There's a misconception about me right there. Sometimes, I just smile because I'm fucking happy, okay? Not because someone's about to die and I get the pleasure of watching."

Wendy stared at him.

"And I'm pretty wasted. This will be a repressed memory come morning."

Her lips twitched in amusement. "I can't believe you're an agreeable drunk. Do Stan and Kyle know about this?"

"No. That's why I usually spend these parties sitting outside until I feel sober enough to go back inside and kick 'em in the balls." Cartman took another long swig from the bottle. "And if you tell them, I'll tell Principal Victoria that you blackmailed some poor, innocent child into doing your homework."

"First of all, _you_ blackmailed Dougie into doing my homework," Wendy pointed out. "And, second of all…" she was smiling as she looked away. "You don't need to blackmail me into keep your secrets, Cartman. _I'm_ a fully functioning member of society."

Cartman slanted a look at her out of the corner of his eye, then snorted. "Hippie bitch."

"Fat asshole."

There was something like respect in his eyes for a brief instant, but then the sliding glass door opened and Token was stepping outside. He smiled as soon as he saw her and Wendy had honestly never been less happy to see him in her life.

"There you are. Bebe's organized body shots and I thought maybe you might want to—"

"No!" Wendy said, appalled.

"—stop her," Token finished, though he looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Hey, Cartman."

Cartman grunted in response and it was clear from the way his jaw was clenched that whatever moment they were having was over with a capital O. Wendy pushed herself to her feet, trying to shake off her disappointment, and shuffled over to Token. She resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder as she headed inside. What was done was done.

x

Butters found Kenny passed out in an empty bedroom upstairs. He hadn't wanted to go to Bebe's party specifically because he'd been afraid Kenny would be there, but the more he'd thought about it, the more he'd begun to hope he'd run into Kenny. He hadn't gone this long without talking to Kenny since they'd broken up and even then Kenny had only managed to avoid him for a week. Butters missed him and his special brand of lewd humor and his lighthearted cynicism and his mischievous eyes and unapologetic smirk. He missed running his fingers through Kenny's hair and listening to Kenny complain and having Kenny tickle him to end an argument and… and the fact that he couldn't tell whether he missed being friends with Kenny or dating him just made him all the more depressed.

Kenny was hanging half off the bed, hood off and smelling like vodka, and his eyes opened as soon as he heard Butters approaching. They locked on him with a distinct lack of coldness and Butters shuddered to think that he was the one who put that coldness there.

"Oh," Kenny slurred. "Are you acknowledging me again? I was under the impression that our friendship was over."

"Gosh no," Butters insisted before he'd even really decided between speaking and running away. "I could never stop being your friend, Kenny. I don't know how to do that."

"You seemed to be doing just fine all month. You stopped coming by the garage and you never call and every time I come by your house your parents tell me you aren't home."

"Th-They always did that…"

"Yeah, but you'd always open your bedroom window to let me know they were lying and then you stopped!" Kenny sat up suddenly, fixing Butters with a hazy, desperate stare that said that he was through being jerked around. Butters' chest began to ache. "If you don't want to be my friend anymore, then just tell me, Butters! Don't avoid me like some fucking coward just because you're too much of a pussy to tell me to keep my lips off you!"

Butters flinched. "That's not what—"

"Don't you dare fucking tell me that's not what this is about," Kenny's voice had gone low. Dangerous. _Sexy_. "That's exactly what this is about. I'm not sorry I kissed you, Butters, but I wouldn't have done it if I'd known that this is what it would do to us. I fucking miss you."

"Well, I'ah miss you, too, Kenny—"

Kenny laughed, but, as usual, there was no humor in it. "Do you? Do you really? Or are you just here because you're afraid I'm going to self-destruct if you're not here to watch me?"

Butters wanted to rub his knuckles together and back out of the room, go home and play Hello Kitty Island Adventure for a couple of hours, forget this ever happened, but Kenny was looking at him all miserable and hopeless and Butters had never meant to make him look that way. He wanted to ground himself, he'd been such an awful friend to Kenny, and, almost involuntarily, he crossed the room and reached up to cup Kenny's cheeks. They were damp. That just made it worse.

"I do miss you," Butters said softly, one hand reaching up to brush through Kenny's hair. Kenny's hair was sticky and clumped together and Butters had to wonder if he had bathed in the darn vodka while he was drinking it. "I wake up every morning wondering when I'm gonna see you and I go to sleep every night wishing you were there with me. All the time we spend together never seems like enough and..."

Kenny's eyes were glowing with intensity. Butters couldn't force himself to look away.

"…and I wish I'd never broken up with you because it was just about the dumbest things I've ever done. And Eric's had me doing a bunch of dumb things over the years."

"Then why'd you do it? I don't understand."

"It's because…" Butters moved away until no part of him was touching any part of Kenny, then turned around and mashed his knuckles together. "I'ah… I went to school one day and realized I was in love with you. And, after that, I realized I couldn't be with you anymore because I was scared you'd hurt me. I-I thought, 'Kenny's always talking about how hot Stan is and how he'd do Kyle and I know he's just messing, but that's just proof that he doesn't know a thing about love.' I figured that if I broke up with you first, I wouldn't have to get hurt when you broke up with me. And that wasn't fair to you. I'd understand if you don't want to be friends with me no more. I'd deserve it after everything. I just never seem to learn my lesson."

Kenny was silent for a long time, so long that Butters began to fear (or hope) that the alcohol had gotten to him and he'd passed out without hearing any of that. Butters still wasn't proud of what he'd done and the longer he'd gone without making things up with Kenny, the more he'd begun to feel like there was no way he'd be forgiven for that. Kenny had always been so good to him, the kindest, most doting, most selfless boyfriend he had ever had, and Butters had thrown it all back in his face just to protect himself.

Butters was just a dirty, stinkin' coward and he didn't deserve a great guy like Kenny.

He jumped at the first touch, eyes widening as they zeroed in on Kenny. When had he gotten so close? Those hands were holding his cheeks now, turning his face around and up while Kenny stared at him with eyes dark and unreadable. Butters' heart thudded in his chest as he held his breath.

"How do you feel about me now?" Kenny whispered, thumb caressing Butters' cheek almost absently.

Butters shivered, truth slipping out easily, "I love you, Kenny McCormick. I don't know how to stop that neither."

"Fucking finally," was Kenny's response as he closed the distance between them and kissed Butters the same way he had about a month ago. Like he couldn't stop himself. Like he didn't even want to. Kenny's hands on his face kept him grounded and he reached his own up to rest on slim hips, ignoring the taste of alcohol as their lips brushed against each other over and over, tongues occasionally swiping forward for a taste. Butters had never been kissed like this before dating Kenny, nor had he been kissed like this after it. Not until now. He felt this kiss all the way to his toes, as though Kenny was reaching inside of him, grabbing hold of his still-beating heart, and squeezing until the blood inside flowed everywhere else.

Kenny tried to pull away, but Butters followed, kissing him chastely just one last time before allowing the separation. His chest was still aching, but in an entirely different way. A pleasant way. Boy had he ever wanted this.

"I love you, too," Kenny whispered, resting his head against Butters'. "God, so much."

Butters shook at the revelation, though he was sure he'd always known it, and pressed his cheek against Kenny's chest, holding on tight. It was still terrifying, giving this much of himself to Kenny and trusting him not to hurt him the way he'd been hurt by every other person in his life. Butters felt so vulnerable and yet so safe, all at the same time.

Kenny held him tightly, kissing his forehead. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'd rather die."

Butters managed a laugh. "Careful what you wish for."

They moved apart, though Kenny kept an arm around his waist, and smiled stupidly at one another before the scent of alcohol hit Butters all over again and his eyes narrowed in concern.

"Are you gonna remember this in the morning? How much booze did you drink?"

"Honestly? None. Cartman poured a bottle on me and I stole it from him and came stumbling up here with it. Bebe polished it off before I could."

Butters eyed him dubiously.

"No, really. Although, that reminds me… come home with me. I want to give you your Christmas present."

Butters tried to smirk, but he could never quite pull it off the way Kenny could. "You're taking me home with you?"

"Like I said," Kenny said, pulling up his hood. "Fucking finally."

x

Stan and Kyle met halfway between their houses the same way they had every year since they had met, Kyle fresh from Hannukah celebrations, Stan fresh from setting up for Christmas. They exchanged presents without opening them (Kyle's was for when he got home; Stan's was to be opened Christmas day) then started a new tradition in which Kyle complained of being cold and Stan distracted him from said cold with his tongue.

Kyle had told Stan about the party and the painfully awkward scene that had taken place in the bedroom and Stan had responded by laughing himself into an aneurysm and asking Kyle if it had been as good for him as it had been for Bebe. And Kyle had punched him in the rib, which had led to wrestling, which had led to making out, which Stan was really growing to love because Kyle was damn good at it and he didn't blame Bebe for missing it. Kyle was all his now, but he could totally understand why someone else might want to try and snatch him away. Kyle was the hottest geek this side of the library, after all, and the people in town weren't blind.

"Dude," Kyle panted when they took a break to breathe. "Where did you hide these stupid notes? It's been like a week since I found one and I've turned my room upside down searching."

"What fun would it be if I hid them all in plain sight?" Stan murmured, kissing Kyle's nose in a wet, cheesy motion. "When I said find them, I really meant find them. And when you find them all, we will consummate our relationship in a manner befitting our station—with cookies and Terrence and Phillip episodes."

Kyle did not look as enthused as he should have. "Terrence and Phillip are your idea of consummation?"

"You have a better idea?"

Stan raised an eyebrow, wondering if Kyle really had the balls to say what he had to have been thinking. Stan may have been the one experimenting, but he was taking this entirely at Kyle's pace. He was horny as hell and kind of curious about gay sex and all it entailed, but he was leaving it up to Kyle. He didn't want to rush this for fear of messing it up.

Kyle's brow furrowed and he averted his eyes. "I guess not."

Stan kissed the little wrinkle until it smoothed, then kissed Kyle's forehead, nose, cheeks, and, finally, lips. Kyle kissed him back instantaneously.

"We should really stop this before someone's parents find out and tell my mom. Or your dad. Or both." Kyle whispered against his lips, but did not seem very interested in stopping.

Stan had to consciously force himself away from Kyle before he threw him down in the snow, breath coming in harsh pants. "Happy… Happy Hannukah, Kyle."

"Merry Christmas, Stan," Kyle replied with the kind of smile that made Stan want to kiss him all over again. He turned and began trudging back to his house, leaving Stan to watch him go with a small smile. This was pretty much the best idea he had ever had. Who knew that dating a guy—albeit, his best guy friend—could be so… perfect?

Stan headed back to his house with the same smile on his face that didn't fade, even when Shelley beat the crud out of him for taping a Tom Cruise movie over her copy of _High School Musical_.

x

TO BE CONTINUED


	5. January

**RED STRING**  
Author: the pink striper  
Rating: M for language and sexual humor/situations. And Kenny.  
Pairings: Stan/Kyle, Kenny/Butters, Cartman/Wendy, and other minor pairings.  
Summary: Stan Marsh has decided that he wants more out of his super best friendship with Kyle Broflovski. A lot more. What starts as a simple experiment quickly spirals out of control, which, in a town like South Park, is never a good thing. Meanwhile, Kenny McCormick decides that high school is a waste of his time, much to Butters Scotch's horror, and Eric Cartman decides to follow Wendy Testaburger to Harvard. Let the games begin.

x

_"I got a lot to say to you. I noticed your eyes are always glued to me, keeping them here and it makes no sense at all. Nothing compares to a quiet evening alone. Just the one, two I was just counting on. That never happens; I guess I'm dreaming again. Let's be more than this. If you want to play it like a game, well, come on, come on, let's play. Cause I'd rather waste my life pretending than have to forget you for one whole minute. Rock and roll, baby, don't you know that we're all alone now? Give me something to sing about."  
**-Crushcrushcrush by Paramore**_

x

**JANUARY**

x

Stan contemplated his potatoes as though they held all of life secrets within their gooey goodness. They had, one time, but that had been around Halloween and then they'd started telling Stan that he needed to kill Kyle to save the world and Stan had realized that Cartman had just kept taping a microphone to the underside of his plates. Anyway, the potatoes had no answers for him now.

School started up in a week and Stan hadn't seen Kyle once since they'd exchanged Christmas presents. On purpose, really, because on the one hand he was ashamed to be in Kyle's presence ever since his PSAT scores had returned with the politest version of, "What are you, some kind of goddamn retard?" written on them and because on the other hand being around Kyle distracted him from thinking about what he loved the most about Kyle. He supposed eventually he was going to have to tell Kyle that he'd failed the PSATs, but the longer he could put that off the better. He hated it when Kyle was disappointed in him. Mostly because Kyle's version of being disappointed in him was to bitch about it until the end of time.

"Hey, turd," Shelley Marsh snapped, breaking Stan's line of thought. "Quit gawking at the table and pass the peas!"

Stan sighed, already reaching for the bowl. "What's the magic word?"

Shelley gave him a look that suggested that if their parents hadn't been sitting at the table then Stan's head would have found itself on the wrong end of a chair. Stan shut his mouth and passed the peas.

"You've been awfully quiet lately, Stan," Sharon Marsh noted with a worried frown. "You're not still upset about those silly little test grades, are you? You know you're still momma's special little boy."

Stan, who had resumed thinking about Kyle, blinked at her. "Thanks."

For one mostly delirious second, Stan considered telling his mother about him and Kyle. Of course, there wasn't really anything to tell. He and Kyle weren't acting any differently than they usually did, except for the fact that they spent a significant amount of time kissing now. His mother had barely batted an eyelash when he'd gone metrosexual with the rest of the town. Would she mind if he told her he was contemplating doing the nasty with a member of his own sex as long as he didn't start getting manicures and shit on top of that?

Randy Marsh polished off the last of his beer and crushed the can in his hand. "How about you and me toss around a football after dinner, Stan? It'll take your mind right off that test."

"Maybe later, Dad."

"Aw, come on," Randy pleaded with an obvious whine in his tone. "I bought a new ball and everything."

"I've got to study—"

"_Stan_," The whine had switched into the even more annoying voice of authority. "I am your father and you will do as I say! We're playing football after dinner and that is final!"

Stan sighed again. "Okay, Dad."

Randy smiled smugly and went to get another beer. Sharon reached over and squeezed Stan's hand.

"You know your father. He loves the quality time you two spend together. Just try and indulge him for awhile, okay, sweetie?"

Which was how Stan ended up spending the time he could have been spending up in his room going over his PSAT prep book to see what he'd done wrong for the umpteenth time outside with his father and his stupid brand new football. Stan didn't see the point in spending quality time with his father. His father was an artard and Stan wasn't. Spending quality time with Randy would only drive Stan crazy or stupid or both.

Randy seemed ignorant of Stan's lack of enthusiasm, however, as he cheerfully returned every half-hearted throw from Stan, cheering Stan on with such constructive criticism as, "Your old man's still got it, eh, son?" and "You throw like your mom!" Eventually, Randy made a bad toss that ended with the ball on the roof and the two of them proceeded to stare at it as though the force of their stares would be enough to dislodge it.

When that didn't work, Stan shrugged. "Well, I guess I'd better get back to studying now."

"Don't be such a nerd, son," Randy replied, heading for the garage. "We'll grab a ladder and get it down."

"Or we could go inside, drink some hot chocolate, and wait for the next snow storm to bury it from our memory."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were violently opposed to spending time with me."

"Uh…"

Randy paused at the garage door, heaving a large sigh. "Stan, we need to have a talk."

_Aw goddammit_, was Stan's first thought. He should have known better than to let his father drag him outside in the cold to throw around a football when Randy only bothered to remember that Stan was on the football team when he went to the games to drink and get into fights with the other parents. He should have known something was up from get-go.

Randy turned, an oddly serious expression on his face. Stan swallowed.

"Look, son. I may not have a whole lot of time to spend with you what with my job at the plant and coaching the little league team, but you know I care about you, right?"

"Uh, sure, dad," Stan said warily, not liking where this was going. At all. "I know. Anyway, I wouldn't have had much time to spend with you either between football practice and studying and—" _Kyle_. "Stuff."

"It's that 'stuff' part that worries me." Randy placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him square in the eye. "Ever since you broke up with Wendy, you've seemed suspiciously… happy."

"…I broke up with Wendy years ago. Why wouldn't I be over it by now?"

"I'm afraid you're repressing the whole thing and putting on a façade because you're afraid to put yourself out there and start seeing other women. And believe me, I understand. Before I met your mother… whoo, well, let's just say it's a good thing I was really, really high at the time or I might have been too afraid of the crippling rejection to even talk to her."

Stan glared at him.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, you need to put yourself out there again. Start seeing other people. Wendy was just a phase; it's time to sample all the flowers in the garden, if you know what I mean. Besides," Randy looked around nervously, then lowered his voice. "It might help you seem a bit more… heterosexual if you were seen going out with people _other_ than Kyle. People of the female variety."

"So, what you're _really_ saying is," Stan deadpanned. "You think I'm gay for Kyle and want me to get myself a girlfriend before you catch the two of us making out in my bedroom or something."

Randy recoiled. "The two of you have made out in your bedroom? I'm too late! Sharon! SHARON!' He went racing back toward the house with his hands in the air. "SHARON, OUR SON IS FUDGEPACKER AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT! I TOLD YOU THEY SPENT TOO MUCH GODDAMN TIME ALONE TOGETHER! I _TOLD_—"

Thankfully, Stan was spared any more of this nonsense by the front door slamming. He glanced back up at the football, wishing he'd just elected to go up and get the damn thing, then glanced back at the house. Somehow, he didn't think it would be quite safe enough to go inside yet even if he and Kyle hadn't really exactly _made out_ in his bedroom. They'd kissed in his bedroom. Stan may have tried to cop a feel in his bedroom. But there was no making out. And also, his father had just jumped to conclusions. He hadn't actually admitted to anything. Which was definitely the story he was going with when he inevitably got called inside.

The front door opened again and Shelley stepped out, picking chicken out of her braceless teeth with a toothpick and eyeing Stan with an odd combination of amusement and disdain. Her combat boots crunched through the snow until she was standing right in front of him and then she smirked.

"So, how long've you been taking it up the ass from your little turd friend?" She asked gleefully. "I wish you'd told me so I could have told mom and dad myself!"

"I am not taking it up the ass from Kyle," Stan said, rubbing a hand over his face. "Dad's just misinterpreting and overreacting again."

"Uh-huh. Because you're totally straight."

"Yes, I am." Mostly, anyway, he amended, because he wasn't really sure that you could be considered straight if you were dating your best male friend in an attempt to find out if either of you were gay for the other.

"Except when it comes to Kyle, in which case, sign you up for the army because the don't ask don't tell parade has arrived."

"I am _not_ having sex with Kyle."

"Yeah, whatever, Tinkerbell." She folded her arms behind her head and looked back toward the house. "Listen, turd, despite the fact that you're a stupid piece of rectal excrement, I would suggest you get out of here for a couple of hours. Mom's convinced of your budding heterosexuality and trying to calm Dad down but it'll take awhile and you don't really want to be around when he starts rolling condoms on bananas and trying to fit them through donuts or up a chicken's ass or something."

Stan cringed. "I'll be at Kyle's then."

Shelley's completely well balanced response was to punch him in the jaw.

"Stupid turd! That's the last place to go in this kind of situation." She shook her hand and grinned. "Ooh, that felt good. I've missed your punching bag of a face."

Stan muttered something about going to Kenny's and scurried away before she started taking pleasure in his pained winces and bruised jaw line. Meanwhile, the verdict was in: he would _not_ be telling his parents about himself and Kyle.

x

Kenny held Butters' hips down to the mattress as he bobbed his head up and down, tongue swirling around the tip. Butters was gripping fistfuls of the sheets, mouth open to allow every groan, moan, and gasp of Kenny's name to pass by uninhibited, and Kenny was remembering all over again why having sex with Butters had been one of his favorite ways to spend his time. He drew back slightly to suck hard at the tip, laughing at the almost agonized expression on Butters' face that turned into a full body shudder from the vibration of Kenny's vocal chords.

"K-Kenny, I'ah—I'm gonna—_aaah_," Butters sighed as he came, whimpering pathetically as Kenny swallowed it all with all the expertise of a veteran porn star and looked damn proud doing it. He reached down and pulled Kenny's lips up to his, kissing him thoroughly even as his hand was reaching into Kenny's jeans.

"Hey, Kenny, mind if I crash for a—aw-_awww_!" Stan's voice cried in an understandably horrified tone. "Sick, dude. Is that Butters? That better not be Butters. Aw, I'm fucking blind now, thank you."

Kenny honestly considered finishing up for a minute, but Butters had already removed his hand in order to join the other in covering his face and it was pretty obvious the mood had been broken. With an annoyed sigh, he zipped up his pants and crawled off of Butters to sit on the edge of the bed and glare at Stan.

Stan glared right back. "I would apologize and everything, but I have to gouge my eyes out first. I just saw Butters' wiener."

"You should be thanking me for the honor," Kenny said with a sigh. "What are you doing here, Marsh?"

"My dad thinks Kyle and I are gay for each other and my mom's at home trying to get him to stop being retarded. I was going to go to Kyle's, but Shelley said that probably wouldn't be a good idea right now. Plus, I know you've got some PSAT books you never used since you _didn't take the test_ so…"

"W-Wait, I'm confused," Butters spoke up at last. "I thought you and Kyle _were_ gay for each other."

Kenny patted his knee. "I'll explain it to you later. As for you, Stan, take a seat anywhere that doesn't have a stain on it and I'll give you the books after you do something about my boner."

"If it comes anywhere near me, I'll chop it off."

"Aren't you a sweet little cocksucker? Gimme five minutes in the bathroom then."

"Ugh, dude."

Kenny laughed and left the room. He found one PSAT test prep book propping up the couch and found the other in the kitchen under some slightly moldy cheese in the refrigerator. He didn't remember putting it there. He prodded the cheese with a fork to make sure some parts of it were still good, then cut around the mold and prepared some cheese and crackers for his guests. His mother walked into the living room just as he was pouring some milk that was a couple of days over the expiration date and smiled.

"If you'n Butters are done with your activities then open up the door in case your sister needs help with her homework. And you've got a visitor."

"So I saw," Kenny drank the rest of the milk straight from the carton and deposited it into the trash. "And so did he."

"That must've been real unpleasant for him. You'd better give him the good cheese to make up for it."

She wandered out again and Kenny scoffed. The good cheese was for Thanksgiving.

By the time he returned to the bedroom, a red-faced Butters was sitting in the fetal position on the bed and Stan was sitting up against the wall with his head tilted back. They both looked at him with obvious relief when he walked in. Kenny looked from one to the other and grinned.

"At least I don't have to worry about the two of you hooking up behind my back."

"I've seen what he's got to offer and it's not much," Stan grumbled before quickly amending, "I mean, it's great for you because you're into the… sweet… innocent… melvin thing, but I like my ventures into the bright world of assfucking to be a little more cynical and jaded with an intelligent streak and an oft persecuted religion."

Butters beamed in realization. "H-Hey! Kyle's cynical and jaded with an intelligent streak a-and an oft persecuted religion!"

"I rest my case."

Kenny dropped the books on Stan's head and joined Butters on the bed again. He ignored Butters' whispered, "Wh-What'd I say?" and simply wrapped an arm around his waist, knowing that Stan's bad attitude wasn't really being caused by Butters. That didn't give him a right to take it out on Butters, though. Stan was one of the many people that Butters constantly needed approval from.

"What crawled up your ass and died, Marsh?" Kenny asked with an edge to his voice. "It sure as hell wasn't Butters. And what do you need my PSAT books for?"

Stan examined his shoes for a moment before muttering, "Sorry, Butters."

"Well, that's alright, Stan."

"_Stan_," Kenny pressed.

"I failed the PSATs. Bombed them. Almost completely." Stan finally said without meeting their eyes. "I don't know what happened, but I'd really appreciate it if neither of you told Kyle, because he got a near perfect score and I know he'd be disappointed if he found out. Or angry. Or both. He might start crying foul and launch a Sheila Broflovski against the college board for providing me with faulty test scores."

Kenny laughed. "That's our Kyle. A budding little activist."

"I'ah could tutor you again if you wanted, Stan," Butters volunteered hesitantly. "My parents just lifted my grounding so I'm actually allowed to leave the house now."

Stan continued to examine his shoes. "I'd really like that, Butters. Thanks."

Butters smiled at having made himself useful, or at least at having made Stan a little less angry with him, while Kenny continued to watch Stan's dejected form. He frowned. "Hey, Butters, we're out of milk. Mind going to the store and buying us some? I'll pay you back next time I get my paycheck."

"N-No, I don't mind!" Butters was up in a second, pausing only to kiss Kenny chastely on the lips before pulling on his shoes. "And you don't have to pay me back neither. I'll be back in a jiffy."

Kenny closed the bedroom door after he'd left, moving to sit next to Stan on the floor. The platter of cheese and crackers remained untouched between them.

"Okay, what's really wrong? Is it Kyle? Did you two interupt your near-constant state of synchronization by having a fight again or something?"

"It's not near-constant," Stan responded unhappily. "We fight all the time."

"You and Kyle have been best friends since birth and you've only had eleven fights, nine of which happened when you were nine."

Stan considered this for a moment, then sighed. "Well, we didn't have a fight anyway. I just don't know how to tell him about my scores. I can't even look him in the face, Kenny, it's horrible. He called me the other night to invite me over to play video games and I told him I was getting my spleen removed. Don't you need your spleen?"

"You should have told him you had to get your spleen _back_. He'd have been more likely to believe that."

Stan didn't even crack a smile. Kenny slid an arm around his shoulders and tugged him closer, kicking the moldy cheese and stale crackers out of the way so that Stan was pressed against his entire side. Stan relaxed against him, but otherwise made no effort to continue the conversation.

"I'm sure Kyle will understand. _I_ got a weeklong lecture when I dropped out of school, but he's understanding of pretty much anything when it comes to you. Besides, the PSATs don't matter as much as the SATs or the ACTs or whatever complicated abbreviations you literates are coming up with for your exams these days."

"I guess," Stan breathed. "I just can't believe I failed. I know I'm not as smart as Kyle or Wendy or even Cartman, but I didn't realize I was a fucking idiot. What if this is all it takes for Kyle to realize it, too?"

"And so we hit on the real problem," Kenny said, suppressing the urge to smile or, worse, laugh. "You're afraid that this blot in your academic career will make Kyle think less of you."

"Well…" Stan was quiet as he contemplated this as well, then sounded surprised. "Yeah, I think I am."

"Stan, you blew up a beaver dam and flooded an entire town while taking a joy ride in a boat that didn't belong to you. And got away with it. If Kyle was going to think less of you, he wouldn't start with this."

Stan's cheeks went pink. "Well, I tried to tell everyone I did it."

"Yes, yes you did. Which is why Kyle loves you so much. Your moral compass is usually set on tolerable, as opposed to his, which is usually set on nag."

Stan was silent just long enough for Kenny to hear the front door opening and Butters greeting his dad, who was probably too drunk at this point to realize he was being spoken to. Then, Stan lifted his head with a wry smile.

"I love his moral compass. It's what keeps my moral compass so steadfast and true. Otherwise, I'd probably be walking around with all the morality of an Eric Cartman."

"Bite your tongue."

Butters opened the door, his eyes quickly finding the two of them. "O-Oh. I'ah could come back later if the two of you wanna—"

"We don't want to anything," Kenny said quickly, pushing himself up and relocating to the bed. Stan cracked open a test prep book, considerably less depressed than he was before, and Kenny patted the space on the bed next to him.

Butters fidgeted for a moment, looking from Stan to Kenny and back again, then climbed back into Kenny's arms. Kenny's mind took the opportunity to remind him of Butters' words from the Christmas party: _'Kenny's always talking about how hot Stan is and how he'd do Kyle and I know he's just messing, but that's just proof that he doesn't know a thing about love.'_ He had no idea what was going on in Butters' head, but he hoped to god it wasn't the same thing.

x

After Token wiped the floor with her for the thirteenth set in a row, Wendy wanted to take a break. She met him at the net, adjusting her sweatband on her head and begging for water or Gatorade or even some mercy if he wasn't fresh out and receiving a good-natured laugh and a kiss for her trouble. They set down their tennis rackets and took a seat on the bench, Wendy opening her Poland Spring while Token kicked it old school with the Evian. He had come a long way from being ignorant of the fact that he was rich and had grown into accepting it and enjoying it without bragging.

Well, mostly without bragging.

"You've got a great backhand for a first-timer," he praised, handing her a fluffy towel to wipe her face with. Wendy wondered what its thread count was. "You nearly beat me a couple of times."

"If by a couple, you mean none, then yeah, sure." Wendy let down her hair and combed it out with her fingers, her newly received Tiffany bracelet glinting on her wrist. The Black family's other private tennis courts were deserted since Mr. and Mrs. Black were inside the house watching satellite cable or whatever it is rich people did indoors and the silence that had descended now that she and Token had stopped playing creeped her the fuck out. "Hey, this is fun and everything, but isn't there—oh no."

"What?" Token asked, following her gaze and frowning. "This can't be good."

What pissed Wendy off more than the fact that fucking Eric Cartman was heading toward them was the way her entire posture brightened at the sight of him, as though her body realized that with him there would come excitement, whether it was good or bad. Besides, she couldn't help noticing, he looked especially good today in a short-sleeved black shirt that showed off all the muscles hockey had given him and a pair of blue jeans. His hair was growing out again, to the point where she would actually have something to run her fingers through in the event of… in the event of nothing because she was so not going there.

She stiffened. "Make him go away, Token. I was having such a nice day."

He took her words a little too literally and got up, setting his Evian bottle on the bench and approaching Cartman instead of allowing Cartman to finish approaching them. Cartman looked equally displeased by this turn of events, but he was smirking not even a nanosecond later and so deviously that Wendy wondered if she'd only imagined his displeasure. She considered getting up to greet him as well, but it seemed a little hypocritical of her. Besides, from her position, she had a great view of the both of them.

They were drastically different in appearance and personality. Unlike Token and Stan, who had the same basic traits except that one was richer, smarter, and less of a pussy than the other, Token and Cartman were only united under the fact that they were both guys. Token was tall and lanky where Cartman was tall and stocky. Token was impeccably dressed in a white tennis shirt and matching pants while Cartman looked like he'd tossed on the same clothes he'd been wearing the day before. Token's hair was black, curly and cut close to his head while Cartman's was brown, straight, and starting to cover his forehead and neck. And that was just physically. To be frank, Cartman's body was likely supported by a superstructure of pure evil while Token was smart, kind, and a gentleman. Most girls would see no contest.

Wendy wondered why she couldn't be most girls.

Token soon returned to the bench and his water. Wendy watched Cartman walked away for a moment before staring at Token expectantly. "Well?"

"Well, what?" he asked before her glare made him laugh nervously. "Oh, that? The guys are playing basketball in the park, is all. Cartman came to invite me, but I'd much rather be spending time with you."

"What? No, we should go," Wendy said, springing to her feet. "It'll be fun. Cartman! Cartman, hang on a minute!"

She was running after him before she was even really aware of what she was doing and it was only then that she realized how bad this must look from Token's perspective. He probably didn't suspect anything besides how freaking bored she was, but still. He _was_, for all intents and purposes, her boyfriend. Oh, well. She'd make it up to him later by cheering for him the loudest during the game.

If Cartman was surprised by the fact that she was falling into step beside him, he definitely didn't show it other than to stick his hands into his pocket and greet her with a cheerful, "'Sup, ho?"

"Shouldn't you be wearing a jacket?" She asked, rather stupidly in her opinion. "It's freezing out here."

"Shouldn't you be using your brain cell? It's pretty lonely in there," Cartman responded with a snort. "That asshole's butler snagged mine at the door. He's probably got yours too, you know, since I'm assuming that the single brain cell you hung on to wasn't the one for short term memory."

Wendy had to remind herself that she was not talking to oddly agreeable drunk Cartman. She glared at him. "At least I'm doing better than you in that department since you haven't managed to hang on to _any_ of yours."

"Of course. Because I'm so brainless I got a perfect score on my PSATs. What'd you get, ho? Bonus points for taking your top off in the classroom?"

"I didn't—shut up, Cartman. You're such an asshole."

"Welcome to the conversation," Cartman snapped. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but that's your asshole boyfriend calling your name pathetically from behind us, so you'd better go back there and reassure him that you still love his black ass before he starts thinking his life's come full circle and you're fooling around behind his back with Stan. Or worse, me."

Wendy stopped walking. "I would never do that. I've never done that. What have you heard?"

Cartman stopped walking as well, looking, if possible, more annoyed than he had before. "Relax, bitch, I know the sight of me repulses you because you bring it up at least five times in conversation. If I know it, then your stupid asshole boyfriend probably knows it, too. And Stan's taking it up the ass from his dirty Jew of a boyfriend, so your dwindling reputation is intact."

"The sight of you," Wendy murmured with her eyes on her feet and her brain screaming SHUT UP NOW. "Doesn't repulse me."

She could feel Cartman's eyes burning into her, but Token had caught up to them by that point and was wrapping an arm around her shoulders. The moment was over. Again.

"Wendy seems pretty eager to watch me wipe the floor with you guys so, on second thought, I _will_ come play basketball with you guys," Token said cheerfully. "Give us ten minutes and we'll meet you at the park."

"Ten minutes," said Cartman, sounding perfectly normal. "Ten minutes is perfect."

x

To say that Kyle was puzzled was kind of an understatement. First, there had been the call to his house a few days ago asking if he'd seen Stan and, if he had, to tell Stan that it was safe for him to come home as long as he brought a six pack and further reassurance that he hadn't fallen to the dark side. Then, there had been the subsequent call to Stan in which Stan had not only failed to explain what the hell was going on, but had also had the nerve to hang up the phone not even five minutes later with a promise to call Kyle back, which he had never done. Then, Cartman had shown up at his house with an invitation to play basketball which Kyle had been about to happily decline before Cartman had pointed out that all the guys would be there and that it was the last chance they'd all get to hang out before school started up again. Kyle had been sold on the chance that Stan might be there, but Cartman had also made a good point.

Stan had in fact shown up—with Kenny. It had been made slightly better (and worse) by the fact that Butters had been there, too, and the three of them had been laughing as though in on some private joke that Kyle hadn't been invited in on. It had sort of pissed him off. Well, until Stan had caught sight of him and smiled so brilliantly that there were probably jealous stars off in the atmosphere somewhere and then kissed him like they hadn't seen each other in two weeks. And that had made it a little better.

Cartman, Kenny, and Craig were on one team with Clyde, Stan, and Tweek on the other which was sort of fair if you considered that while Tweek sucked at sports (and life), Stan was as good as two people to make up for it. Kyle and Butters were sitting it out, Butters because he could barely play and Kyle because he wanted to observe for awhile.

What he was observing kind of worried him. Stan and Kenny were acting strangely. It wasn't strange for Kenny to be hitting on Stan like his balls would fall off if he didn't, but Stan seemed oddly receptive to it. Kenny visibly groped him while guarding him and Stan just turned around to give Kenny a better shot at his ass while he tossed the ball to Clyde. Stan blocked a shot from Kenny and then made it up to him by reaching around him to catch the ball. And the lewd looks they kept giving one another…

He had to be imagining it, right? Had he missed something?

"Hey, Butters?" Kyle asked curiously once the boys had taken a break for half-time during which Cartman had gone to retrieve Token to play for Tweek if Craig failed to calm him down behind some bushes. "Are Stan and Kenny dating or something?"

"W-Well, not that I know of," Butters responded, mashing his knuckles together with a nervous laugh. "That'd be… kinda weird considering Kenny's _my_ boyfriend."

"And Stan's mine." _Kind of,_ Kyle amended in his head. "So explain this to me because if I didn't know better, I'd totally think…"

"Stan's been staying over at Kenny's a lot lately." Butters sounded utterly put out by the idea. "'Cause his parents've been making him real upset and all. He and Kenny have lots of long talks when they think I'm asleep. Or when Kenny sends me out grocery shopping one item at a time. Or while I'm in the shower. Or—"

"I get the idea, thanks." Kyle frowned. "He didn't tell _me_ his parents have been being retards again…"

"I-It was sorta a one-day thing. His mom and dad found out the two of you're going out and gave him hell for it, but he convinced 'em there was nothing going on and it was fine. I'ah think."

Kyle's frown deepened into a scowl. "I'd qualify that as pretty important actually."

"O-Oh."

Kenny ran over and tugged Butters by the hand, shouting something about a vacant bush, and Kyle glared at his back until he realized that Stan was sitting next to him. And then he switched to glaring at Stan instead.

"What crawled up your ass and died, Broflovski?" Stan asked, wrapping an arm around his waist. "I didn't see Cartman talking to you."

"I didn't see you talking to me either," Kyle said flatly. "And from what I've been hearing, you've been not-talking to me all week. Because, I mean, if _my_ parents seriously thought you and I were screwing, my natural first choice to tell would be Kenny and not you because, hell, what do you have to do with it?"

Stan removed his arm. "That's not quite what happened…"

"Better yet, why involve you at all, right? Why not spend the whole week at Kenny's, infringing on his time with his actual boyfriend, and ignore _my_ actual boyfriend until I become so comfortable with Kenny that I start acting like _he's_ my boyfriend. And, as a super fun twist, why don't I make both actual boyfriends watch me and Kenny slowly seduce one another under the guise of playing basketball? I wonder why he's so horny all of a sudden, Stan. Couldn't have anything to do with you, right?"

"…you and I aren't actually boyfriends…"

Kyle felt as though he'd been slapped. His eyes burned as he hopped to his feet. "Right, of course we're not. I almost forgot for a minute that our entire relationship is a sick, twisted lie."

"Kyle," Stan was on his feet, too. "That's not what I—I didn't mean it like that, I swear. It's been kind of a weird week and I—"

"What?" Kyle asked, trying not to get hysterical even though he knew he was about five seconds away from it. "Didn't think I could help even by listening? Took refuge between Kenny's legs? Suddenly remembered that we're not actually dating and you can do whatever and whoever you want? Stop me when I'm close, Stan."

"It's nothing like that," Stan tried to grab his arm but he twisted out of the way. "Kyle—"

"No!" He wasn't crying yet, but Kyle knew that if he stayed any longer he probably would. "It's been a great four months, Stan, but it's obvious we just weren't meant to work out as a serious couple. Don't talk to me at school for awhile, okay?"

"Kyle!"

The tears started falling just as soon as Kyle was clear of the park and could no longer hear Stan following him. They blurred his vision, making it pretty hard for him to decide where to go. He stood there uselessly for awhile, just letting the tears fall and the feeling of crippling rejection wash over him. He'd kind of seen this happening, but he hadn't really seen the whole Kenny thing coming. Kenny had seemed to be his biggest supporter in all this, but Stan was Stan and Kyle supposed he could understand Kenny failing to suppress his attraction for long.

Oh, who was he kidding? He didn't understand. He was fucking angry. He was angry and miserable and he wanted to kick something. Preferably Kenny. Preferably in the nutsack.

He didn't know how long he'd been standing there before he heard a female voice say his name and saw Wendy and Token approaching him. As though his day couldn't get any worse.

"Hey, man," Token said warily. "You alright?"

"Does he look alright, Token?" Wendy snapped. "Just go inside and play basketball. I'll handle this. Oh," she added as he was walking away. "Don't tell any of the guys you saw Kyle crying or I'll ram an M16 up your ass and fire it."

"Got it."

Wendy wrapped an arm around Kyle's shaking shoulders and waited until Token had disappeared into the park before speaking in a gentler tone, "Is it Stan? Did he break up with you?"

"I think _I_ broke up with _him_," Kyle managed though it was shaky and hard to understand around his fucking sobbing. He felt like such a pussy. A pussy who couldn't hang on to a boyfriend for four fucking months. "Does it always hurt this much?"

"Yes, yes it does." No one could ever call Wendy Testaburger a liar. "Come on. We'll go to my house and do what I did when I broke up with Stan."

"Token?"

"_No_. God, why does everyone keep bringing that up?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Let's go."

x

After a whole carton of cookies and cream and five romantic comedies, Kyle was feeling significantly better. If by "significantly better" one meant "brain dead and gay". He figured once he knew enough about a romantic comedy to know who was going to end up with who simply by the way that they met, he had officially crossed the bridge into Melvinville. He hadn't given much thought to who would top or bottom if he and Stan were to ever have sex, but he figured that after the last few hours, the honor of having something rammed up his ass would have to logically go to him.

Wendy smiled at him from the other side of the couch. "Feeling better? This is a recommended and time tested way of dealing with a bad breakup. Nine out of ten girls agree."

"What's left of my balls hates you with a fiery passion," Kyle sighed. "And if you ever tell anyone about this, I'll—"

"Oh, just admit you feel better."

"Never."

Wendy laughed and fell back against the arm of the couch. "You know what's weird? I feel better, too. I didn't realize how tense I was until I finally relaxed. Spending time with Token takes a lot out of me."

"But he's your boyfriend, isn't he?" Kyle asked, though he honestly couldn't say he cared. "Isn't spending time with your boyfriend supposed to be… you know, fun?"

"You'd think so," Wendy said softly. "But with Token it's a lot like work. I mean, first, I have to worry about not pissing off his parents because they kind of resent me for all the times I keep breaking up with him and he keeps taking me back. And then I'm pretty sure his mom thinks I'm a gold digger. Then, Token's always throwing his money in my face unintentionally and even though I know he means well I have to concentrate really hard on not telling him off because inside every guy is a giant pussy."

"Oh, thanks."

"Plus, any girl in our grade would kill to go out with Token so there's the extra pressure to act like I'm super-dee-duper happy or else one of them might tell him I'm miserable out of some misguided attempt to get in his pants because inside every girl is a giant bitch."

"I see."

"So, as I said, it's a lot of work." Wendy smiled, though this one was tinged with exhaustion. "At least it wasn't that way with you and Stan. You have good times you can look back on."

"Being with Stan was a lot of work, too," Kyle admitted, running his fingers through his hair. "I mean, mostly because I wasn't really _with_ Stan. Not the way I wanted to be."

"What do you mean?"

Kyle looked at her incredulously, then realized she was serious. "You don't know yet? I thought Stan would have told you first."

"Told me what?"

"We were never really going out. Stan just realized everyone thought we were and figured there was no harm in giving it a shot. Our relationship was really him trying to see if we were suited for that kind of relationship." Kyle lowered his eyes. "I'd hoped we were, but after today…"

Wendy was silent. Mostly because she was gaping at him.

"It's not as outlandish as it sounds. I _did_ have fun. I hope he did, too. I guess he's just discovered that he'd have more fun with Kenny."

"Are you stupid?" Wendy finally managed, voice shrill with anger. "Are you both completely stupid? Am I the only person who realizes that if the two of you were any more in love then Stan would be poisoning himself and you'd be stabbing yourself in the gut right afterward?"

"Why am _I_ Juliet? What are you insinuating?"

"That you're both a couple of fucking morons, that's what! I'm not even insinuating it, I'm outright telling you! Kyle," Wendy's tone was gentle all of a sudden and she was holding his hand. Kyle anticipated her breaking all the bones inside it in just a minute. "Stan loves you. Whether he realizes it himself or not, he's in love with you. It's so fucking obvious. And you love him, too, don't you?"

Kyle swallowed and looked away. "I wish I didn't."

"No, you don't. Stan's a great guy. No matter what he does, he always means well. Plus, he's pretty easy on the eyes." She squeezed his hand, but not as hard as he'd been expecting. "The two of you have been ridiculously close for so long that Stan doesn't even know how to identify how he feels about you. Trust me, it's love. He's probably beating himself up right now about what happened and if he's not already looking for you, then he will be soon. I still think the two of you are idiots, but if this is the way things have to be to make the two of you realize you're meant for each other, then I won't stop you."

Kyle imagined Stan running around town, half-mad in his desperation to find him, calling his cell phone over and over again, leaving tons of apologetic messages, kicking Kenny in the nutsack. The image brought a twinge of something, pain crossed with the deepest pleasure, to his chest. He hated the idea of Stan being so upset but… to think of Stan caring about this _thing_ enough to look for him…

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked the display. No new messages. Not even a text.

He returned the phone to his pocket and sighed, tugging his hand out of Wendy's grip. "Those words all sound nice, Wendy, but it's more likely that Stan's finally realized that this is way more trouble than it's worth and I'm more tolerable as a friend. I'm one less person he and Kenny can sneak around behind the back of."

"I doubt he's sneaking around with Kenny of all people," Wendy consoled. "Kenny's in love with Butters and I got the feeling that he was all talk as far as you and Stan were concerned."

Kyle shrugged.

"How about we watch one more movie and then I take you home?"

"As long as something blows up in this movie."

"Deal."

x

Butters found Stan on the roof Wednesday morning, lying on his back and staring at the clouds. He had a free period and he knew that Stan liked to cut class and smoke up here and he was a boy on a mission.

Kenny had spent all of study hall in a janitor's closet with Butters proving to Butters that he wasn't interested in sucking off anyone but him, sealing it with a promise that Stan would be spending considerably less time at his house now that school had started.

"Plus," Kenny had murmured while making a very obvious hickey on Butters' neck. "He was only there hiding out from Kyle. If I wanted to fuck him, I could have done it twelve times by now."

Which was pretty good as far as reassurances went considering that it had been Kenny talking. While Butters was feeling much better about the whole thing, he'd seen Kyle wandering dejectedly through the halls, usually in the company of Wendy as he actively avoided Stan, Kenny, and, as usual, Butters. Kyle had switched his seat in class to the back without warning, spent his lunches in the library, and caught the bus home from school when he didn't drive himself. And Stan had done nothing at all to stop him.

Butters let the roof door close behind him and approached Stan carefully, trying to piece together what he was going to say. He couldn't stand to see Kyle so miserable, but he knew that the only one who could make Kyle feel better was the one making him miserable in the first place. Even if he did hear the whole story from someone else, that would still leave the question of why Stan hadn't told him.

He waited until he was a safe distance away, then fisted his hands at his sides so he wouldn't fidget and shouted, "You're a real asshole, you know that?"

Butters shuddered at the fact that he'd just said a naughty word, but stood his ground as Stan tilted his head back to look at him, then rolled into a sitting position.

"What?"

"You heard what I'ah said," Butters snapped, not daring to repeat himself. "You've made a real mess'a your relationship with Kyle and you better go down stairs a-and fix it before you lose him forever!"

Stan turned, staring toward the gate that surrounded the rooftop area. "Maybe I'm doing what's best for Kyle. Maybe this is for the best."

"You're just a coward too afraid to tell his best friend he failed some stupid test!"

"First of all, it was the PSATs, so not just 'some stupid test'," Stan's voice got progressively louder as he climbed to his feet and began marching toward Butters. Butters tried not to do what his instincts were telling him and run. "Second of all, Kyle and I promised we'd get into the same college and I blew the first step! Third of all, it's not about the fucking PSATs, okay? It's about the fact that Kyle is young and eligible and pretty damn hot if you're into the scrawny Jewish kids and he should be with someone he really wants to be with and not his so-called super best friend who he hasn't been able to stop picking fights with since this whole stupid thing started!"

Butters blinked slowly. Kenny had explained Stan and Kyle's unique situation to him and he had sort have understood, but from the way Stan was red faced and panting it was obvious that Kyle wasn't the only one having doubts about where this was all going. Stan's eyes looked a little too bright as well, but he wasn't going to be the jerk to comment on it.

Unable to help it, he began to fidget. "W-Well, I don't think it's that Kyle's opposed to being with you…"

"Oh, you don't?" Stan asked sarcastically. "Then why's he always the first one to pull away from our kisses? Why's he always so distant when we're out on dates? Why is it that practically _every_ month the topic of breaking up comes up between us? He never initiates any kind of contact between us and most of the time he acts like this is _my_ stupid indulgence that he's just going along with because I'm his super best friend and he doesn't want to hurt my feelings. What if that stupid fight was just him finally looking for a way out?"

"That's possible," Butters admitted. "O-Or at least it would be if Kyle hadn't stopped talking to you entirely."

Stan wiped at his eyes under the guise of rubbing his face. "What are you talking about Butters?"

"Don't you think that if Kyle h-had wanted to get out of the relationship then he woulda wanted to do it in a way that would have resulted in the two of you still being friends after? Seems to me that the way _not_ to hurt you in this situation would've been to just tell you he wanted out instead of accusing you of cheating on him with a mutual friend. And if it's obvious to me, it should've been obvious to Kyle, too."

Stan looked away and said nothing.

"I'ah don't know why Kyle's been holding back so much, Stan. Maybe he's afraid showing too much affection will scare you off or maybe he's afraid to try too hard at this in case you change your mind, but it seems to me that he's more afraid of losing you than anything else. Least until he thought you were already lost. Last week didn't really help much. Neither is you avoiding him."

"_He's_ avoiding _me_."

"Maybe he's just waiting for you to make him stop."

Stan turned to look at the gate again, sighing. "We're both idiots. I'm not even sure who's the bigger one right now."

"K-Kenny says it's Kyle, but I think he's just mad 'cause Kyle thought he was the kind of guy who'd try to break up a relationship like yours."

"What do you mean 'like ours'?"

Butters grinned. "K-Kenny says you're Mario, Kyle's Princess Peach, and he's Luigi watching from the closet. He also said to tell you to go rescue your princess from the castle of isolation."

"Oh, ha-ha, he's so clever."

"Yeah," Butters said fondly. "I know."

x

Eating lunch in the library wasn't as bad as Kyle had originally thought it would be. Eating lunch in the library was for losers with no friends, usually, but he'd actually managed to get tons of work done in there since he didn't have to fend of Cartman's anti-Semitism or Kenny's lewd advances or Stan's typically welcomed advances or… well, everything that came with sitting at a lunch table with his (mostly) so-called best friends.

Wendy had relocated to the library for lunch as well, claiming it would help her study, though Kyle really knew that she was 'helping him through his breakup' in her own way. And he'd appreciate it if she hadn't began her version of help by ridding him of all of his masculinity with _Love Actually_ and _There's Something About Mary_.

She had really began to help when she'd cracked out the big book of ivy leagues since both of them had gotten good enough scores on their PSATs to make ivy leagues more than just a casual goal.

"If we perform this well on the SATs," Wendy had said as they'd started looking at Yale. "We'll practically be shoe-ins."

Kyle hadn't really been interested in ivy leagues before since Stan wasn't exactly ivy league material and he still wasn't too fond of them since he tended to associate ivy leagues with unnecessary pretension and people like Cartman, but Wendy had seemed so excited and talking about ivies prevented him from thinking about Stan. Helping her seemed to help him. Life was strange like that.

They were looking at an in-depth profile of Cornell when a chair scraped across the carpet and they looked up to see Bebe sitting there. She was wearing nothing but lip-gloss on her lips as far as makeup was concerned and a green sweater with a black skirt, tights, and green boots. The fact that she was smiling unnerved him.

"So, I heard about you and Stan," she purred, winking.

Kyle stared at her, horrified.

Bebe laughed. "Oh, relax Kyle. I'm not about to proposition you now that you've broken up with your boyfriend. I was sitting over there with Red and heard you guys talking about ivy leagues, which is a lot more interesting than talking about hair. I was wondering if I could join in?"

"Um," Kyle tried to speak around the aneurism she'd given him. "Sure, but who told you?"

Bebe pointed an unpainted fingernail at Wendy, who had her face buried in a copy of _Little Women_.

She gave up the charade when Kyle glared at her. "I thought it would be beneficial for both of you if—" Now Bebe was glaring. "Okay, okay, I let it slip in conversation. But Bebe's learned to keep a secret so I thought it would be okay. It… _is_ okay, right?"

"It's fine," Kyle sighed. "I'm going to grab some more books."

He returned to the table a few minutes later with some of the same books that he and Stan had looked at back in September, setting them on the table. The best ones had been taken out or were being used somewhere in the library, but he would make due with these. Wendy and Bebe were talking about Princeton. Kyle opened one of the books to DeVry University and was genuinely stunned to see a small slip of paper with his name printed on it sticking out between the pages.

He reached for it with shaking hands, opening it under the table.

_Reason 10: I love how passionate you are. You put your heart and soul into everything that you do and it's admirable. But it's also so cute to see you get all worked up over something, from your mom's constant nagging to Cartman's depravity. And, despite that, you still believe there's good in everyone. God, you're amazing._

Kyle's heart thudded painfully. He crushed the note in his hand and stuck it into his pocket. That made three of them.

He tried to read the rest of the book, but the note burning a hole in his pocket made it impossible to concentrate. Finally, he excused himself from the table with a muttered explanation about a full bladder and went outside where he could breathe for awhile. From his spot, he could see the parking lot and even Stan's car sitting snug between Token's Bentley and Bebe's Pinto. Kyle remembered him and Stan driving to Stark's pond, parking the car, and just lying on the hood staring at the sky and talking shit about their lives and everyone in it. He remembered falling asleep in the backseat of the car on a long car ride to Denver then allowing Stan to do the same on the drive back. He remembered arguing over what music to play, an argument that had culminated in Stan pulling over just so they could thumb wrestle over it. The thumb wrestling had turned into real wrestling after Stan had cheated and Kyle remembered wanting to kiss him so badly that his lips had tingled with the desire. He'd allowed Stan to win then just to get away from him before he did something stupid.

_Like agreeing to enter into a relationship that I knew was false in the hopes that I could persuade him to love me back?_ He thought wryly. _No, wouldn't want to do anything that stupid._

He pulled the note out of his pocket and read it one more time, feeling the ache in his chest again. The note had reminded him of what he'd known very well since school had started. He _missed_ Stan. Not just as a boyfriend, but as a super best friend. Sitting in the back of the classroom had just given him enough time to develop his stalker skills as he stared discreetly at the back of Stan's head and he still caught glimpses of him in the hallway, usually in the company of Kenny and Cartman, that made the weight in his stomach feel that much heavier. He missed him like he'd miss breathing if he couldn't do that anymore. Hell, even that felt painful.

Besides, he was turning out to be a giant pussy when Stan wasn't around and it was kind of pissing him off.

Distantly, he heard the bell ring, but he had already come to a decision. He'd wait by Stan's car after school and talk to him. A stupid fake relationship wasn't worth losing his super best friend over. Nothing was worth that.

x

The basketball game in the park had been a tie. That was Token's explanation for why Wendy was spending her free time after school in the gym watching him and Cartman play basketball. Clyde, Craig, and Tweek had gone to Craig's to watch Red Rocket, Kenny and Butters had gone to the animal shelter, and Stan and Kyle had just plain disappeared. Why the two of them had decided to continue the game as a one-on-one was beyond her, but Token was kind of her ride home so she was stuck.

"Cartman was being a jerk about the game," Token explained to her as he stretched. "I'm just going to teach him a lesson, that's all. Then we can go home and have crab cakes and lobster tail."

"Wooo," Wendy said with all the enthusiasm of a kindergartener about to go to the dentist. "You kick his ass, baby."

"Don't worry, I will." He gave her a quick kiss and then jogged onto the court where Cartman was waiting with the ball. Cartman had even gotten himself a basketball jersey for the occasion, specifically one that identified him as a member of the Chicago Bulls, as well as armbands and a sweatband. Wendy would have rolled her eyes if it hadn't been so amusing. And, besides, he did look kind of cute in a 'trying too hard' sort of way.

"Alright, Token, I hope you're ready to kiss my ass as I slam dunk the winning point."

Token snorted. "Whatever, Cartman. Let's just say that whoever reaches fifteen points first wins, okay? Wendy wants to go home."

"Stop being a pussy and tell your ho to shut her mouth and bake you something," Cartman said as though it should be obvious. "My ball."

It only took about five minutes into the game for Wendy to realize that Cartman still royally sucked at basketball. Every time Token made a shot, Cartman would yell at him to stop cheating or, better yet, attempt to trip him to keep him from winning. Wendy's personal favorite was when Token attempted to catch a rebound shot and was stopped by Cartman tackling him to the floor and innocently saying, "Whoops, foul."

When Token had reached twelve points, Cartman called a time out.

"I'm getting kind of winded," he said even though he wasn't even breathing heavily. Or even sweating for that matter. "Water break. I brought enough for both of us."

He went over to his bag and tossed Token a bottle of Poland Spring, grabbing one of his own and heading to retrieve the ball from where it had rolled on the other side of the gym. Token shook his head and joined Wendy on the bleachers, tossing the water bottle from one hand to the other.

"I don't even know why he bothered. With the game or with the water. I don't drink Poland Spring." He reached into his own bag and pulled out his Evian. "I might as well throw this out."

"Don't be silly. I love Poland Spring. I'll take it." Wendy opened the bottle and polished off half of it. She hadn't realized how thirsty she'd been. And it was chilled to just the right temperature, too. Too cold to be room temperature, but too warm to give her brain freeze. "You're missing out."

"If you say so," Token said, taking a swig from his bottle and returning it to his bag. "I think he's coming back. We'll be out of here soon."

"I'd wish you good luck, but I don't think you need it."

Wendy watched Token run down the bleachers to meet Cartman and wondered why she seemed so high off the ground. It was kind of dizzying. She grabbed her bag and Token's, intending to move lower, but she looked up and Token and Cartman looked like tiny specs in the distance that then began to spin and she wobbled on her feet. Her head began to throb, but she made a valiant effort to keep moving and made it down one rung before toppling down the rest of them.

She landed in a groaning heap… _somewhere_, her body registering the pain as something distant yet nagging. Like her mother when she wanted Wendy to clean her room but couldn't find her hiding in the backyard. She was disoriented when someone dragged her to her feet a minute later, leaning against the person to keep her balance. They were warm. And they smelled like Axe. She fucking loved Axe.

Echoing voices began conversing around her. One sounded distinctly like Token, the other like Cartman.

"What's wrong with her?"

"How the fuck should I know? She's your girlfriend, asswipe. Tell her to lay off the booze."

"Wendy doesn't drink!"

"Shows how much _you_ know."

"We need to take her to the home! Hand her over, Cartman."

"Fuck that. She's leaning on me. I'll take her."

"Yeah, right. Because I'm totally going to let you rape her while she's disoriented."

"_Ey_! Even I have limits, douchebag. I don't rape girls. They bitch too much normally without adding nonconsensual sex into it. The fact that it crossed _your_ nasty mind is proof that you can't be trusted with her either."

"Just hand her over! She's _my_ girlfriend!"

"Yet another reason. You're probably too upset to drive. I, on the other hand, could care less about this bitch and am therefore able to think rationally. Why don't you go the fuck home and I'll take Wendy home so she can sleep it off."

"Hell no! You think she'd want you to take her anywhere, let alone to her house?"

"She let me take her to Mexico."

"_What_?"

Wendy felt herself being moved again and opened the eyes she hadn't been aware she'd closed to see an ass in her face. Cartman's ass to be specific. God, it was nice. If she could be bothered to move her arms, she would have squeezed it.

"Later, asshole."

"Cartman, wait!"

Token's voice became fainter and fainter until Wendy realized that they were moving and, quite likely, had been moving for some time now. The gentle rocking was making her exhausted and she tried to form the words to thank Cartman for taking her home, but then the warm grip of sleep was enclosing her.

x

Stan gripped the envelope tight in his hand as he made his way up the path to the Broflovski residence, feeling that familiar fear gripping him. But even more overwhelming was the fear that if he didn't do this then he and Kyle would never speak again. And even more troubling was the desire to do more than speak. Kissing was preferable, but he wouldn't mind holding Kyle again, too.

He rang the doorbell before he could talk himself out of it, waiting patiently and trying not to frown when Ike was the one to answer the door.

Ike stared up at him, then rolled his eyes. "It's about damn time, you giant turd. KYLE! THE OTHER HALF OF YOUR SOUL IS AT THE DOOR AND LOOKING APROPRIATELY APOLOGETIC." Stan was horrified for the three seconds it took Ike to explain, "Mom and Dad went to a movie."

Kyle appeared at the bottom of the stairs a moment later, going pale when he saw Stan. Stan's hands itched to touch him, but he managed to reign it in and went with a smile instead.

"Can I talk to you? Out here?"

"Um…"

"If you say no, you're retarded and I'm ashamed to be related to you. Actually," Ike shoved Kyle out onto the porch and slammed the door. This was followed by the click of a lock. "Ring the doorbell when you're done!"

Stan looked at Kyle who was looking at him, then took the time to realize that Kyle wasn't wearing a shirt nor was he wearing any shoes.

"So… my car?" He suggested. "I'll start the engine and turn on the heat. You wait here."

He made sure the car was nice and warm before he returned to the porch and, ignoring Kyle's protests, picked him up bridal style and deposited him into the passenger seat of the car. Stan climbed into the driver's seat and locked the doors to reduce the chances of escape, still clutching the envelope in his hands. He took a deep breath, then just came out with it.

"I failed the PSATs."

"What?" was Kyle's predictable reply. "You did what?"

"I failed the PSATs." He handed Kyle the envelope and sat back in the seat. "I failed the PSATs and I was too much of a pussy to tell you because I was afraid you'd think I was an idiot so I've been spending all my time at Kenny's house going through his test prep books and figuring out what I did wrong and why. I guess spending a whole week hanging out with Kenny—and Butters, I guess—made me kind of immune to his, uh, perversion. I didn't mean to act like… like he was my boyfriend. I guess I just got used to him so I didn't really notice that I'd started to give it right back to him."

He glanced over at Kyle to see Kyle making a face at his PSAT scores, a face he didn't even try to hide when caught. "These are really bad, Stan. Why didn't you come to me if you needed help studying?"

"I didn't think I needed help. I just kept putting it off and plus we were having that kind of fight at the time where you were evading me to study with Wendy and—"

"Are you trying to blame me for this?"

"No, of course not," Stan sighed. "It's just… Kyle, why did we really break up? Because I keep telling you that if you don't want to be with me anymore—"

Kyle stuffed the paper back into the envelope, an edge to his voice. "Was that before or after you reminded me that I'm not really your boyfriend?"

"I shouldn't have said that," Stan admitted. "I was lashing out at you because I had no idea why you were suddenly so angry with me and it was unfair. But what's really unfair is how much time we spend fighting now that we're together in whatever sense of the word. And if we're not fighting, then we're making out and _you're_ pulling away. I've noticed that's a running theme."

"I really have no idea what you're—"

"Stop it, Kyle. You're always the first to pull away when we're kissing and you hardy ever initiate any of it. You never hold my hand. You never touch me, period, unless I touch you first and even then you just let me do it for awhile before you pull away. Is it any wonder I keep asking you whether or not you want out? Could it _perhaps_ be because I might have a legitimate reason to feel like I'm taking advantage of you?"

Kyle wouldn't look at him. "You're not taking advantage of me."

"Then what's going on?" When Kyle didn't respond, Stan leaned over and forced Kyle to meet his eyes. "Kyle, as far as I can tell, I like you. I like kissing you, I like holding you, I like being with you. But I can't keep doing this if you don't stop giving me mixed signals. Because your body language is telling me to back off and that fight in the park… it all just sounds like you're looking for a way out. If you really don't think we'd work as a serious couple, just let me know. But I _can't_ play these games with you anymore, Kyle. You're worth way more to me than that."

Kyle looked away for a moment before looking at him again, eyes a little too bright. Stan knew the feeling. He felt a little too raw himself.

"Stan, I—" Kyle took a shaky breath, lifting his chin out of Stan's grip and staring at his feet. "I like you, too. And it scares me because… because any second you could realize what a huge mistake you're making and call it off and I don't think I'd be able to handle it."

"Who says I'm making a huge mistake?"

"_I_ do! Stan, the only thing I've got going for me is the fact that I'm smart and I've even managed to turn that into a character flaw. I'm insufferably arrogant, constantly convinced that I know better than everyone else, and my attitude problem doesn't exactly win me friends. Some days, I'm no better than Cartman except for the fact that I draw the line at murder and genocide. I'm an emotional _mess_, Stan, and I don't understand why you keep doing this to yourself when we could continue on as friends and forget this whole stupid arrangement ever got started. I'm not your actual boyfriend, so why keep pretending?"

"Hey," Stan reached over until his arm was wrapped around Kyle's shoulders, wishing he could pull Kyle into his lap but seeing how that would be a little impossible given the circumstances. "Don't talk about my super best friend like that, Kyle. Cartman's a stupid asshole. Don't compare yourself to him. You've got morals and a conscience and you're way more attractive."

"And passionate. And speak Hebrew. And have monster hair," Kyle said sarcastically, though there was a slight smile tugging at his lips. "Apparently."

"Are those the only ones you've found? You're missing out," Stan's fingers began to toy with the curls at the nape of Kyle's neck though he was still resisting the urge to kiss him. "I also mentioned your sense of humor, your loyalty, your courage, your idealism, your faith in humanity and the way you still manage to retain some respect for our authority figures despite the fact that they're stupid. I mean, no offense, but you kind of suck as Jew. It's obvious you're only adhering to the faith out of respect for your parents."

"No offense taken," Kyle shrugged. "It's kind of true. I mean… I've met Jesus plenty of times and I even killed him once and he came back. Anyway, I hear it's only the Mormons who go to heaven."

"I mentioned how much I love our conversations. And how you always make me want to do the right thing. I'd tell you more, but I'm kind of ruining the surprise enough as it is. The fact of the matter is, I liked you enough to make you my super best friend for seventeen years so obviously you can't be that bad. At least, to me."

Kyle was smiling as he reached behind him, removing Stan's arm from his shoulders. "I still don't think you really realize what you're getting yourself into here." Stan suppressed a surprised groan when Kyle kissed his palm. "I'm jealous and needy." Another kiss, this time pressed against the back of his hand. "I'm disdainful of most activities that don't involve reading, learning, or shooting a basketball." A third kiss, this one more of an open-mouthed suck on his pointer finger. "I hate most of the people that I meet on principal." The ring finger now, a harder suck. "I'm going to make you work unfairly in order to get into my pants which results in me being, as Kenny says, a shameless tease." His pinky got a suck _and_ a lick. "And I'll get so insecure about us that I'll pick fights with you for no reason, just to see if you care enough to hang around." Kyle released his hand, looking up at him with a twinkle in his eye. "Are you _sure_ you want me?"

"God, yes," Stan breathed, his entire body burning with the need to kiss Kyle right the fuck now. "Kyle, please."

"Yeah, okay," Kyle said with a hot little smirk that had Stan's eyes rolling back into his head even before Kyle kissed him rough and messy, tongue tangling around his without warning, fingers cupping his cheeks to keep him from moving even an inch. Stan moaned, hands finding Kyle's hips. He couldn't remember ever being this hard in his life. His hips were twitching impatiently, wanting some sort of friction, but Stan couldn't move with Kyle biting and licking at his mouth like that, bruising him, marking him, claiming him. Kyle's fingers tightened against his cheeks and Stan felt lightheaded. Not that he was willing to stop for a pesky little thing like breathing.

Kyle drew back quickly, breathing just as hard as Stan, but it was only for a second before he was trailing nibbles and licks along Stan's mostly healed jaw line, one hand moving down to brace itself against Stan's thigh and uncomfortably close to Stan's dick. He gasped in as much air as he could around his groans because he'd _missed_ this and it was made even better by the fact that Kyle didn't seem to be holding himself back anymore. If this was what happened when Kyle let go, Stan couldn't imagine how good the sex would be.

Oh, no, that was _so_ not a good place for his thoughts to go.

"Think I want you to back off," Kyle muttered against his neck, biting down hard enough to hurt and then soothing the area with his tongue. "Think _you're_ taking advantage of _me_? You. Have. No. Idea."

"Show me," Stan begged, gasping again as his seat suddenly fell back. He hadn't even noticed Kyle reaching for the switch. He had only a moment to process that before Kyle was climbing on top of him, fitting himself into the tight space between Stan's body and the steering wheel and fitting his hips into just the right place for Stan to rut shamelessly against him. "Fuck, Kyle."

Kyle's teeth closed around his earlobe and tugged at the same time he began to thrust back. Stan might have seen God.

When Kyle's lips returned to his, Stan's hands reached up to tangle in his hair as he sucked on Kyle's tongue like he was paying him for it, devouring Kyle's mouth. Maybe if he kissed Kyle hard enough and pulled him close enough, they would cease being two separate entities.

"S-Stan," Kyle whimpered, pressing his hands against Stan's chest. "S-Stan, I can't—we have to—_Oh god_."

Stan's tongue had discovered Kyle's pulse point and his hands had discovered Kyle's ass. He didn't know how Kyle could still form words right now. Obviously, he thought as he sucked at the crook of Kyle's neck, he was doing something wrong.

Kyle tilted his head back with a helpless whimper. "St—an. Stan, W-Wendy made me watch _Love, Actually_."

Stan's entire body felt like it was on fire, but the tension dissipated a bit when he began to laugh. "Tell me you're kidding."

"No, I'm serious. She made me watch _Love, Actually_ and _There's Something About Mary_ and _Never Been Kissed_ and even _She's All That_. I think I might have spontaneously sprouted a vagina."

"I could check," Stan suggested hopefully.

Kyle laughed, though he sounded appropriately breathless. "I think we'd better wait until my dick grows back before we," he gestured between them. "You know. Besides, I don't think we're ready yet."

"Sounds good," Stan said, covering his eyes with his arm. "But please get off me. My entire body is one big nerve ending connected directly to my dick and you're not helping."

Kyle laughed again, but he climbed back into the passenger seat and turned off the heater. He rolled down the windows a moment later, allowing the cool breeze to blow into the car. It wasn't as good as a cold shower, but it was good enough. Well, the cool breeze and reminding himself that his grandfather had had sex.

Once Stan was sure that he was back under control, he returned his seat to its original position and smiled over at Kyle who was holding one of his notes in his hand.

"I've read over it a lot today," he admitted, cheeks pink. "I wanted to make up with you after I found it. I waited by your car after school, but you never showed up."

"Really?" Stan had to smile. "Dude, I was waiting by _your_ car, but _you_ never showed up. How'd we miss each other in the parking lot?"

"I went the long way in case I ran into you."

"And I took the shortcut because I figured you'd have gone that way."

"We're stupid."

"Really stupid," Stan leaned over and pressed a kiss to Kyle's cheekbone. "Does this mean we're back together or do you do this kind of stuff with Kenny, too?"

"I'd never do this stuff with Kenny," Kyle said in disgust, the amusement evident in his eyes only. "He'd like it too much."

Stan was aware he was smiling stupidly when their lips met again, but Kyle was, too, which made it seem okay. Most of all, he was just relieved. It felt like he and Kyle had achieved some new level of intimacy and it also felt like it had been a long time in coming. That made twelve fights that he and Kyle had had since birth, but, somehow, the moment they made up always felt like coming home and this time was no different.

x

Wendy woke up in the middle of the night with seizure-inducing lights going off to her left. She rolled to face them and noticed immediately that she was in her room, her TV was on, and Eric Cartman was sitting on her carpet playing _Halo_. She didn't know which one of these things confused her more.

"Wasn't I just at school?" she asked, sounding hoarse. There was a glass of water by her bed and a couple of pills. She drank the water and skipped the pills, then tried the whole talking thing again. "What are you doing in my room?"

Cartman paused the game and glanced at her over his shoulder. "You may have fallen down the bleachers and nearly injured yourself as a result of drugged water meant for your asshole boyfriend, but the officially story is you got dizzy and fainted. If you care about your life at all, you'll go with that one."

Wendy stared at him. "You tried to give Token drugged water?"

"That black asshole was cheating! Excuse me for cheating right back. That's what makes it fair. Besides, the white man invented cheating for his own personal gain. Token's got no business doing it," Cartman snapped, pushing himself to his feet. Wendy continued to stare as he pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and shined it into both of her eyes. Then he shined it into her open mouth, prompting her to close it and blink.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, ho? I'm making sure you're alright. The drugs should have worn off by now, but I can't have you peeing in a cup and linking me to this whole mess. Plus, Token's already suspicious enough of my motives for taking you home myself. For once, you being dead would have the worst effect on my life."

"Gee, thanks," Wendy said flatly. "So glad my ability to wake up has helped you avoid prison again."

"Still not repulsed by the sight of me?" The sarcasm in his tone as he put away his flashlight made her stubborn streak rise. Because, the truth was, even though she really should be…

"No, actually, I'm not. I'm even glad you're here. It was nice of you to make sure I woke up okay."

"That's not what I did or even why I did it," Cartman sounded very much like he was attempting to explain the finer points of addition to a first grader. "On any other day, I wouldn't give half a shit whether you woke up or not."

"But today you did. So thank you."

"What are you thanking me for, bitch? I almost indirectly caused your death!"

"I doubt you were planning to kill Token."

"There was enough in that water to knock out a boy of his size. I didn't know what it would do to a girl of your size. You could have died and it would have been my fault." Cartman was sounding less patronizing and more… well, scared didn't seem like the right word, but it was close. He realized it the same moment she did and turned away. "I don't know what was in those drugs, but your mind was probably warped long before that. You hate me, remember? I'm an infectious lump of fat on the titty of the world."

"I don't hate you, Cartman," Wendy whispered. "I used to, but not anymore. Do you hate me?"

"Of _course_ I do," Cartman said, angry and exasperated. "I thought I'd made that abundantly clear. You're the single most annoying female creature to ever drop out of a vagina and every time I have to listen to your stupid voice I want to punch something. Preferably a baby. The sight of you makes me nauseous, I hate all your friends, I hate your boyfriend, and I'd probably hate your parents if I met them just because they had you. You're a really huge pain in my ass, Wendy."

Wendy bit her lip so it wouldn't shake, fingers clenching around her blanket. "Oh. I guess I deserve that."

"You're not going to cry or something, are you?"

"Of course not," she said, stiffening her shoulders and trying to keep her voice from wavering. "I expected that answer and I—wait."

Now Cartman just looked bored. "What?"

"You—" She replayed the speech in her head to make sure she hadn't made a mistake. She hadn't. "You called me 'Wendy'. Not 'ho', not 'bitch'. 'Wendy'."

"It's your name, isn't it?" asked Cartman, but he was distinctly uncomfortable. "What does it matter?"

"It matters." Despite the fact that she had just wanted to cry, she couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. "It matters a lot coming from you."

"Don't act like you know me. _Ho_."

"I'm starting to figure you out."

Cartman stared at her silently for a moment and it seemed as though he wanted to say something else but couldn't. Wendy tried to stop smiling, but she honestly couldn't and the longer they went without speaking the more annoyed Cartman seemed to get. Finally, he pushed her back on the bed.

"Go back to sleep. Hopefully, you won't remember any of this in the morning and I can get on with my life." He headed for the door without a word and without even saying goodbye. Wendy watched him go through hooded eyes, the smile spreading throughout her body. He'd called her Wendy. In the middle of a speech detailing how much he hated her, yes, but if he'd really meant it, wouldn't he have topped it off with an insult? Did that mean it had all been a lie and he didn't hate her as much as he pretended to? Was she reading too much into it?

She rolled back onto her other side, realizing that she'd discarded something upon waking up. She reached over and grabbed the unfamiliar animal, examining it in the light from the television screen. It was a raggedly looking green frog with rather obvious black thread connecting its head to its body. It looked vaguely familiar, but Wendy knew it wasn't hers.

Still, she hugged it close to her chest and went back to sleep, a satisfied smile on her face.

x

TO BE CONTINUED...

x

**Author's Note:** There was a lot of sex in this chapter. I'd apologize, but I know you don't mind. And it's funny, because this chapter was giving me trouble this whole month and then I sit down today after watching 'About Last Night…' and soaking in the Style-ish goodness and I finish the whole chapter in one night. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!


	6. February

**RED STRING**  
Author: the pink striper  
Rating: M for language and sexual humor/situations. And Kenny.  
Pairings: Stan/Kyle, Kenny/Butters, Cartman/Wendy, and other minor pairings.  
Summary: Stan Marsh has decided that he wants more out of his super best friendship with Kyle Broflovski. A lot more. What starts as a simple experiment quickly spirals out of control, which, in a town like South Park, is never a good thing. Meanwhile, Kenny McCormick decides that high school is a waste of his time, much to Butters Scotch's horror, and Eric Cartman decides to follow Wendy Testaburger to Harvard. Let the games begin.

x

"_If it hurts this much, then it must be love. And if it's a lottery, I can't wait to draw your name. Oh, I'm trying to get to you, but time isn't on my side. The truth's the worst I could do and I guess that I have lied. That night, I slept on your side of the bed so it was ready when you got home. We're like noughts and crosses in that opposites always attract. Am I keeping you awake? If I am, then just say. I'll live and let die all the promises you made, but if you lie another time, it'll be a lie that's too late."  
–**Always Attract by You and Me at Six**_

x

**FEBRUARY**

x

It was at times like these, when Kenny had Butters pressed between his body and a nice, sturdy wall, that he couldn't help thinking that maybe Butters deserved a little better. He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, what with the fact that his tongue was half-way down Kenny's throat and his hips were pumping enthusiastically against Kenny's hips, but still. Kenny and Butters didn't really go out on dates because dates cost money, which Kenny didn't have and refused to let Butters shell out on his behalf. They couldn't even stay in on dates because the McCormicks had pawned their television a while back in order to have enough money to eat for awhile and Kenny was a little embarrassed snuggling up on his couch with Butters to watch whatever his neighbors were watching. Butters kept insisting that he didn't care what they were doing as long as he got to do it with Kenny, but usually what they ended up doing was exactly what they were doing currently and, from the outside, it kind of made Butters seem like a booty call when he was so much more than that.

"K-Kenny," Butters moaned, accidentally knocking his head against the wall when Kenny nibbled on his collarbone. "School's gonna start real soon a-and I don't—"

Kenny didn't particularly care about school starting since he didn't technically attend the damn place anymore, but he knew Butters would have a heart attack if he was even a second late for homeroom. Butters was so _good_ that it was hot and Kenny wanted to protect him almost as much as he wanted to do dirty, dirty things to him. And did. Every day.

He forcibly removed himself from his boyfriend and rubbed his eyes in a fairly futile effort to keep his horniness at bay. He also made a point of not looking anywhere in Butters' general direction because the sight of Butters all rumpled and dazed would no doubt launch them into another bout of kissing that would make Butters miss his first two classes.

"I'll walk you to the bus stop," he said, turning to grab his parka and his boots. The left one had a hole in it at the toe, the other had a hole in it at the heel. Kenny managed to hide both of these things pretty well by wearing dark socks, though. He didn't really mind people pitying him, because then they acted all nice and responded positively to him asking to crash on their couch or begging for food, but it was really embarrassing that he couldn't afford new boots even if he outgrew these. Or they fell apart. Or something.

He heard Butters shuffling around behind him and held in a sigh. He'd never really been ashamed of being poor growing up because he'd never known what it was like _not_ to be. He didn't see the point in longing for what he'd never had, had never gone to Kyle's house and wondered why his wasn't that big, had never taken any of Cartman's ruthless jabs to heart. His parents had done his best and loved him the best they could, even though sometimes it seemed like his father loved the bottle more than he did his own family and his mother was too busy yelling at his father to pay much attention to Kenny. He'd still managed to keep on top of the latest trends and toys, sometimes by hooking up with a contact or two working in the factories and sometimes with a little thing he liked to call, well, shoplifting. Kenny had always done whatever he'd had to do to get by and he'd held his head up high through all of it.

Butters, though. When Butters looked at him, he saw something in Kenny worth knowing, worth _loving_. He definitely didn't look at himself and see what Butters saw and the sheer adoration present in Butters' eyes all the time made him ashamed of those parts of himself that weren't admirable. He was poor and dirty and scrawny and hungry and he'd lied and stolen and done a lot of things for money that he wasn't proud of. He hadn't exactly whored himself out on the street or anything, but… he'd consider it for the right price. But Butters didn't see any of that when he looked at Kenny and Kenny wanted desperately to be the person that Butters seemed to see. He just didn't know how.

"I'm ready, Kenny," Butters said at last, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Kenny's waist. He rested his cheek against Kenny's back and sighed, content as always. Kenny tried not to shake in the embrace. "But you don't have to walk me if you don't want to. I'ah don't wanna make you late for work."

"I'm always late for work," Kenny replied, inhaling deeply. He turned around and took Butters' hand. "Let's just go."

His dad was passed out on the couch, reeking of alcohol as usual, and his mother, brother, and sister were probably asleep wherever they could find the space. Kenny loved mornings at the McCormick house the most because it was peaceful and quiet, no one yelling at anyone else or blackmailing anyone else or wrecking the things they'd had trouble buying in the first place by throwing it at anyone else's head. Butters had begun telling a complicated story about a prank Cartman had played on him at school the day before and was making no indication that he noticed or minded the fact that they were picking their way over beer cans and spilled garbage in order to get to the front door. Kenny knew it was because Butters had an innate ability to make the best of a bad situation, but he also knew that Butters wouldn't have to if he'd just find another—

Kenny didn't actually want to think about that, so he didn't.

The bus stop was a good twenty blocks out of the neighborhood and Kenny had always hated making the trip, which was how he always ended up giving Butters a piggy-back ride at least half of the way there. Butters wasn't a complainer, but he was a lot more active than Kenny was and Kenny figured that Butters' legs probably started to hurt him maybe a block or two after Kenny's did. And he would much rather bear the brunt of the pain than let Butters do it.

"Valentine's day's coming up," Butters said from somewhere near his left knee, his arms wrapped loosely around Kenny's neck. "Boy, I hope you like your present, Kenny. I worked real hard on it."

Kenny managed not to stumble. Valentine's day. He'd forgot all about the damn holiday. He'd never gotten Butters anything for Valentine's day—even during their first run as a couple—because he hadn't been able to afford anything. He vaguely remembered making him a card, once, out of an old grocery receipt and knew for a fact that Butters still had the damn thing, but that was pretty much it. A grocery receipt card was not going to cut it this time. Not for Kenny.

He hiked Butters' legs up further on his waist. "You want to go out or something? On Valentine's day?"

"N-Nah, we don't have to go anywhere. I just want to—"

"Spend time with me," Kenny finished for him, frowning. "Yeah, I know."

Butters' hands twitched and Kenny knew he was just dying to fidget. "W-Well, if you don't wanna spend time with me on Valentine's day, I'ah suppose I could just—"

"No, it's not that."

They had reached the bus stop. Kenny set Butters down and stretched out his back. Butters mashed his knuckles together nervously.

"Are you sore at me, Kenny?"

"Never at you, Butters," Kenny sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. He hadn't taken a shower in a couple of days and his hair was getting greasy. "Just—let me take you out on Valentine's day, okay? I want to."

Butters looked as though he were going to argue, but swallowed his reservations and smiled instead. Kenny wondered why that made him feel worse, not better. "I'd really like that. Where're we going?"

"I don't know yet. I'll let you know when I do."

"Well, alright then." Butters fiddled with the straps of his backpack and glanced at Kenny through his lashes. There was a small smile tugging at his mouth. "The bus ain't here yet…"

Kenny would have checked his watch, if he had one. "That's weird. It's not usually this late."

He peered down the street in the direction the bus was supposed to come from, which kept him from noticing what Butters was doing until Butters was pressed right up against his side. One of his hands was in Kenny's back pocket and the other was trailing up Kenny's chest. Anyone who thought Kenny was a nymphomaniac had never seen Butters in action. He couldn't help but smile.

"Someone could see us," he felt the need to point out even though anyone who actually lived around here wouldn't be up at this hour of the morning. And if they were up, then they weren't home.

Butters knew it, too, and had begun to trace the curve of Kenny's ear with his tongue. Kenny shuddered.

"I know you're worried about something and you don't wanna talk to me about it," Butters whispered, kissing Kenny's jaw, his chin, the tip of his nose. "And that's okay, but I can't stand to see you looking so sad all the time."

Sometimes, Kenny took for granted just how perceptive Butters could be. A warm hand cupped his cheek to keep him from turning away.

"No, you don't, mister." And now Butters sounded angry, which, for Butters, meant sounding disgruntled or sulky. "You don't always have to—"

The bus turned the corner and rumbled along toward them. Kenny extracted himself from Butters yet again and smiled, though this one was more tired than anything else.

"We meeting for lunch?"

Butters shrugged and got on the bus.

Kenny sighed as the doors closed and the bus drove away, pulling his parka hood up and tying it tight. His life had been much simpler before he'd ever taken the damn thing off.

x

Stan was taking the SATs in March, which apparently meant that he had to spend at least one period per day in the library, crammed between Kyle and Wendy, taking practice tests until his writing hand fell off his wrist. He had tried complaining that if he wasn't allowed to use his free period to do things that weren't practice test related, he might develop a phobia that would have a detrimental effect on his ability to do better on the actual day of the test, but Kyle and Wendy had been studying so hard for so long that they knew for a fact that this was impossible. Once in awhile, though, something would happen to shake up the mind-numbing monotony.

Today, that something was the presence of Eric Cartman, who was sitting across from the three of them and taking up his entire half of the table with what he had announced to be an entire list of every reasonably good-looking girl in their grade, as well as the grade below and above theirs. Stan didn't want to know where he'd gotten that, but Kyle and Wendy were concentrating so hard on ignoring him that they hadn't noticed he'd run out of time for this section of the test twenty minutes ago and had started doodling in the margins of his practice test. If Stan had known that a little thing like Cartman would deliver him from SAT Hell, he would have been bribing Cartman to follow him around long ago.

"What do you think of Tessa Coley? I hear she's easy," Cartman said, glancing up from the list to stare pointedly at Stan. "And she's not ugly, so she probably has some decent dick-sucking experience."

To Stan's left, Wendy tensed.

To Stan's right, Kyle snapped, "You're fucking disgusting, Cartman. Who would have sex with you?"

For some reason, this made Wendy tense even further. Stan wondered if touching her would cause her to spring out of her chair like a slinkie or if she was taking 'statuesque' to a whole new level.

"I think Tessa Coley has herpes," Stan helpfully answered, drawing the ire of both his companions. He sank down in his chair and tried to pretend he was working.

Cartman drew a large black line through her name. "Good looking out, man."

Stan noticed her coming before anyone else did, since all but Cartman were glaring at Cartman while Cartman himself was circling names and muttering to himself. She lingered hesitantly behind Cartman's chair, eyeing one of the empty ones as though waiting for an invitation. Or hoping for one. Either way, Cartman probably wasn't going to move his things.

"Excuse me," she said politely. "Cartman—I mean, Eric—may I talk to you?"

Cartman glanced up, blinked, and then blinked again. "What?"

"I—" Patty Nelson's cheeks went red and she deliberately didn't meet anyone's eyes. "I wanted to—are you going to the dance? With anyone?"

"Dance?" Cartman echoed blankly.

Stan had no idea what she was referring to either, but Wendy rolled her eyes and pulled a small, pink flyer out of her bag. Stan leaned over to read it.

_LOVE IS IN THE AIR… OR IN THE GYM  
VALENTINE'S DAY FROM 8PM to MIDNIGHT  
BE THERE OR BE BITTER_

It was decorated with a picture of two large-eyed children kissing. Stan looked at Kyle and, simultaneously, they made identical faces of disgust.

"I know these things kind of stopped being cool since… well, since we were actually allowed to go to them, but…" Patty Nelson trailed off, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I mean, if you haven't got a date, I'd really like it if… you'd go with me."

"Date?"

"I think she's asking you to be her Valentine, Cartman," Kyle clarified helpfully. "I have no idea what's wrong with her, but she seems to really want to ruin her holiday by spending it with your fat ass."

Patty Nelson frowned. "I don't think—"

"Shut up, you fucking Jew! At least I won't be spending my holiday getting ass-rammed by my pussy boyfriend!"

"Fuck you, Cartman!"

"Um, guys—"

"I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Like I'd want to get your fag all over me!"

"I will kick your ass, Cartman!"

Stan reached over and wrapped his thumb and pointer finger around Kyle's wrist, swiping his thumb soothingly over Kyle's pulse point. Kyle had been in halfway out of his seat in order to make good on his threat, but the instant Stan made contact with his skin Kyle stopped. He and Stan exchanged a long look, then Kyle sat back down and glowered ineffectually at the table.

Cartman snorted. "Fags."

"LOOK," Patty Nelson suddenly shouted. "Do you want to go with me to the dance or not, Cartman? I'll even pay for us to go out to eat afterward. Or before. Or during. Whatever. Just… please? I really want to go with you."

"Huh?" Cartman's attention shifted back to her and his inability to form sentences more complex than that had returned. "…sure."

"Really?" The other four occupants of the table said in unison.

Patty Nelson smiled shyly. "Okay, good. Um. Pick me up at six?"

"Cool."

Cartman waited for Patty Nelson to wander back to the table she had been sharing with Bebe, Token, the Tucker cousins before leaning back in his seat and folding his arms behind his head. His smile was smug.

"Patty Nelson wants to bone me," he announced. "And I thought being the only hetero in this sausagefest was going to suck."

Stan was busy stroking Kyle's hand under the table to get all that offended by Cartman's usual… personality, but Kyle was never too busy. "Shut up, Cartman. Anyway, I thought you hated Valentine's day."

Kyle had a point. Cartman was a notorious hater of Valentine's day and all it entailed, ever since Valentine's day had stopped being synonymous with 'everyone in class brings everyone else in class chocolate and a card'. After those days had ended, he had had to start working for the chocolate and, worse, had been expected to give said chocolate _away_ and to _girls_ which had significantly reduced his enjoyment of the holiday.

Add that to the fact that even doing so would not guarantee that he would get laid and Cartman was an even bigger Valentine's day hater than a bitter single who'd been dumped the day before. Despite the huge production he made of reviewing lists full of girls for fornication purposes, he usually spent Valentine's day alone by choice to save himself money, effort, and chocolate.

"And," Stan added, intertwining their fingers. "I thought Patty Nelson hated you."

Cartman snorted. "No one hates me."

"_Everyone_ hates you," Kyle and Wendy corrected.

"Yeah, that's why _I_ have a date for the Valentine's day dance and you fags are going to fag it up in your fag nest and Wendy's going to spend the night scraping the sand out of her vag," Cartman drawled.

"In case you've forgotten, asshole, I have a boyfriend," Wendy snapped, slamming her book closed. "And we were planning to—well, we haven't made any _solid_ plans yet, but we will."

"I thought you hated Valentine's day, too," Stan reminded her gently.

That happened to be somewhat his fault as Wendy's outlook on the holiday had always been dubious at best, but Stan's unremarkable attempts at romance had been the straw that broke the camels back. The first time Stan had tried to write a poem for her, it had ended up going a little something like this:

_When I look at you  
I see a moon that never fades from my sight  
I see a sun that lights the dark corners of my mind  
I see the stars that, sparkling, guide my way  
And I am the sky, holding you to me forever  
I mean, until you explode, like the other giant balls of gas  
Or at least that's what it says in my science textbook_

Needless to say, Stan hadn't written any more poems after that and Kyle had made fun of him for an entire week.

"Shut _up_, Stan," Wendy gathered her things, shoved them unceremoniously into her bag, and went to go sit with Token.

Kyle pulled Stan to his feet as well and tilted his head in the direction of some of the more remote shelves. Thankful for the SAT break and slightly eager as to the direction this could lead, he followed with a distracted promised to Cartman that they would be right back. The disgusted frown on Cartman's face as they left, however, made Stan quite aware that Cartman didn't believe him for a second.

Kyle dragged him in between two of the furthest and dustiest shelves Stan had ever seen, but he was willing to ignore that if he ended up getting some action up against one of them.

"Something's wrong here," Kyle whispered, beginning to pace. No action then. "Cartman must have drugged her or he's up to something or—"

"Cartman seemed even more shocked than we were," Stan pointed out, pulling Kyle over to him and wrapping his arms around Kyle's waist. "Anyway, aren't we a little too old for you to still be accusing Cartman of being up to something?"

"Aren't we a little too old for him to constantly be up to things?" Kyle retorted, relaxing into the embrace. His arms settled around Stan's neck, but his face remained stubbornly at a respectable distance that let Stan know there would be no kissing until Kyle deemed it appropriate. In other words, Kyle was teasing him like the twinky little tease he was.

"_Anyway_," Stan managed to focus. "It's also none of your business. You don't even know Patty Nelson, so why do you care?"

"You didn't even know Heather and you cared a _lot_ about her."

"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

Kyle grinned. "Not ever."

Stan rolled his eyes good-naturedly, remembering how stupid he had acted and how worried Kyle had been when he'd insisted upon skiing down that giant mountain for some girl he couldn't care less about. But that was Kyle. Always looking out for him when he lost his mind, just like Stan did for him. And, from the look in Kyle's eyes, he was ready to do a lot more than just look. _Finally._

Kyle toyed with the little hairs at the nape of Stan's neck, leaning forward to place a teasing kiss at the corner of Stan's lips. Stan tried to tilt his head and meet him head on, but Kyle held him tight, restricting all motion.

"Nope," the mischief in those eyes was evident. "Not unless you got a decent score on your practice test."

"Aw, come on!"

"'Aw, come on' nothing." Kyle placed another teasing kiss to the other side. "I need you to come to college with me, Stan…" The words whispered a hair's width away, warm breath fanning his face. "I don't remember how to be without you."

"Kyle…"

Kyle stepped back, giving Stan a half-smile, then left the shelter of the shelves before Stan could even properly formulate a reply. Sometimes, Kyle said and did things that made Stan think there was a deeper meaning that he was missing, something that Kyle was holding back because he didn't know how to be open about it. But, then again, Kyle had always been better at articulating things than he was. If he couldn't say it, what hope did Stan have of dragging it out of him?

Besides, he had a point. Stan didn't really remember how to be without Kyle either. He brought a finger to his tingling lips. In more ways than one.

x

"…so I told him to think of something good, but also that I wouldn't be too picky and would be happy with wherever he took me," Wendy said as she reapplied her lip gloss in the girls' bathroom mirror. Behind her, Bebe was leaning against one of the closed stalls and, to her left, Red was applying just enough eye shadow to look like a trampy whore but not enough to look like a _badass_ trampy whore. Wendy wasn't about to help her out. "You should have seen the panicked look he got on his face. Like, am I really that scary?"

"Totally," Red agreed before she realized what she had agreed to and rapidly backtracked. "I mean, you do kind of intimidate people, but sometimes it's fun to put your guy in an awkward position like that. It makes them work harder."

Bebe sighed.

Wendy smacked her lips together, blending the sheen and the mango smoothie flavor, then popped the gloss back in her bag and turned to face her real best friend. "You're surprisingly quiet about this, Bebe. Don't you have input? Was I being too harsh?"

"Oh, no," Bebe glanced up, then away. "It's just, I mean, I already heard this story from Token when he tried to pump me information on what you'd like so I kind of spaced out to thinking about what I'm doing for the holiday. Which is nothing. So."

The second sigh was much deeper.

Red walked over to her and placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. "That's awful, Bebe. I've never heard of you _not_ having a date on Valentine's day before. I mean, if I wasn't going out with Kevin, I'd totally hang out with you."

Wendy would have bitched her out for being so 'unintentionally' cruel, but Red had a pink flush to her cheeks that suggested this date with Kevin wasn't as casual as she was making it out to be. That and Bebe was smiling at her, even though it looked a little forced.

"That's great. I'm glad you two are hanging out again," she said, and that much at least sounded genuine. "You have to call me and tell me everything."

"You bet your fat ass I will," Red turned back to the mirror, added one last swipe of eye shadow, then stuffed everything into her bag. "I have to go catch up with Anne. Now that she and Token aren't a thing anymore, I've been trying to set her up with Clyde. I think their babies would look a lot like the Pillsbury doughboy and that's funny to me. Later, bitches."

And with that, Red was gone. Thank goodness.

Wendy hoisted herself onto the countertop and gave Bebe a look that was somewhere between sympathetic and pitying. Bebe had been having a rough time of it ever since she had decided, for one reason or another, that she wanted guys to hang out with her based on her own merit and not just because she was really good in bed. The result of that decision had been, unfortunately, that most of the guys at school just didn't bother with her anymore. Or had gone gay, but that had happened before Bebe's landmark decision. Even now, Bebe was still resolutely wearing everything in her closet that _didn't_ show off her assets and was planning on buying more such tasteful clothes. Wendy was actually really proud of her, but the last time she'd tried telling her that, Bebe had told her to go fuck herself in a very affectionate way.

Bebe pushed herself off the stall door and joined Wendy on the counter top, swinging her boot-covered feet. "I'm pretty sure Token's thinking of taking you to the dance."

Wendy stared at her patiently.

"And I told him nothing fancy, but, you know, he doesn't really know the difference sometimes so be prepared for—"

"Bebe."

"What?"

Wendy nudged her friend with her shoulder, smiling gently. "Look, I could set you up with someone if you want. Like Bradley. Remember him? He's single."

"I thought Bradley was still touring with the Getting Gay With Kids choir?" Bebe asked, which wasn't exactly a no. "Or some choir."

"Not this week. Why don't you ask him if he's doing anything for Valentine's day?"

"Why doesn't _he_ ask _me_?"

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Bebe, this isn't the eighteen hundreds anymore. We're allowed to ask guys out if we want to—"

"Please don't give me the female empowerment speech again, Wendy. I'm begging you. Haven't I done enough for you this week?" Bebe covered her face with her hands for a moment, then hopped off the counter. "I'll ask Brad if he's free, okay? Meanwhile, you should really start trying to act like you want to spend time with the guy that you're with. Token isn't stupid and neither is Cartman."

"Bebe!" Wendy jumped down from the counter instead, but only to check the stalls for feet. Thankfully, they were empty, but, still, close call. "What Cartman does or doesn't do isn't of any concern to me. I _want_ to spend Valentine's day—"

"Letting him bone you in the hockey goal? Yeah, I know," Bebe said with a roll of her eyes.

Wendy's entire face burned, not just because of the accusation but because, for a minute, she actually pictured it. God, what was happening to her? "I wouldn't—"

Bebe checked her watch. "Lie to yourself all you want, Wendy, but I'm a little beyond that. Call me when you're ready to talk facts."

She took a moment to fluff her curls in the mirror, then left the bathroom. Paranoid, Wendy checked the stalls one more time, even going so far as to kick open the doors, but she was truly alone. She even felt alone. Thinking about Cartman had a tendency to do that for her, when it wasn't making her angry or… or not angry.

Wendy sighed and splashed some water on her face just as the bell rang, signaling the start of her next class. With one more look into the mirror, she gathered her things and ran to class.

x

Kyle was thoroughly trouncing Kenny at his new snowboarding game when the idea came to him. He knew that Stan and Kyle hadn't really made any solid plans for Valentine's day because, according to Kyle, they were guys and guys didn't see it as quite the holy sacrament that girls and gaywads did, but Kenny could tell that Kyle was still thinking about it. How could he not? The holiday was all that seemed to be on everyone's mind and Kyle insisted that everyone at school was suddenly pairing off like Noah's ark in a way that made him extremely glad he wasn't single because it was really fucking annoying. Even the guys at the garage had been exchanging ideas for presents to give their wives, girlfriends, or mistresses. It was as cute as it was pathetic.

Not as pathetic as his loss to Kyle, though.

Kenny set down his controller and lowered the hood on his parka, giving Kyle a dirty look. "You're cheating or something. I never lose at this game."

"Don't blame me because you're distracted," Kyle teased, tossing his controller down as well and glancing in the direction of the kitchen. "I'm kind of hungry. You want a sandwich or something?"

"You know I never turn down free food, Broflovski. And you have a point. I've been wracking my brain trying to figure out where to take Butters for Valentine's day."

Kyle was unimpressed. "Why do you have to take him anywhere? Don't you guys spend most of your time at your house anyway?"

"That's kind of the problem."

Kyle went to go make the sandwiches and no doubt think of a comforting response to Kenny's dilemma. In the meantime, Kenny propped his feet up on the coffee table and relaxed. Gerald Broflovski was working late and Sheila Broflovski had gone to the supermarket, leaving Kyle and Kenny alone for the afternoon. Well, Ike was there, too, and he was pretty sure he had at least two of his other little seventh grade friends up in his room with him, but he was so quiet that Kenny managed to ignore his presence. Besides, Ike was a smart kid. Kenny didn't have to worry about corrupting him when he'd given head to his Kindergarten teacher in a bathtub at the age of three.

As though hearing Kenny's thoughts, the boy himself came bouncing down the stairs, pausing when he caught sight of Kenny's feet on the coffee table and raising an eyebrow in a way that made him look very much like his mother. Ike was a little too tall and a little too scrawny to be as attractive as, say, Stan, but his black curly hair flopped against his forehead and neck in a way Kyle _wished_ his did and his eyes were huge and bright and brown and he was just tan enough to suggest that once his awkward phase was over, he'd really be something to look at.

In the meantime, he was jailbait and Kenny really needed to stop thinking about Kyle's brother like that.

Ike smacked Kenny's legs off the coffee table, then took a seat next to him on the couch. "Mom hates it when you do that. She says it leaves a mark."

"Kyle will clean it," Kenny pointed out, gesturing toward the kitchen. "He's a good little housewife like that."

Ike grinned. "Yeah, okay, what's wrong?"

Kenny had heard that geniuses had a tendency to be detached from real life because they were too busy thinking all the time, but Ike had an unnatural ability to look past bullshit and grab hold of whatever problem was plaguing the people around him. He was a genius at reading people. It was as annoying as it was convenient. That was why Kenny liked hanging out with Stan and Kyle. Stan needed things spelled out to him and Kyle just didn't give a shit.

"I want to take my boyfriend out for Valentine's day but I'm poor as shit and have no idea where to take him that isn't a 7/11," Kenny said grumpily, figuring honesty was the best policy in this situation. Ike was great to talk to, could keep tighter hold on a secret than a dog with the mailman's leg, and thought rationally when everyone else was too clouded by emotion. "It's really fucking annoying."

Ike was silent for awhile, clearly analyzing the situation in his head and getting so entranced in his thoughts that he didn't notice when Kenny put his legs back on the coffee table. At last, Ike announced, "Solved it," and stood.

"Wait, what?" Kenny asked, but Ike was heading back up the stairs again.

Kyle returned from the kitchen with a ham and cheese sandwich that he proceeded to set down on the coffee table… in order to smack Kenny's legs off it. "Mom hates it when you do that. She says—"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard," Kenny muttered, kicking off his shoes and folding his legs under himself. He reached for the sandwich and had his hand batted away.

"That one's mine. I'm making you a BLT if you can hang on long enough for—"

Kyle was interrupted a second time by his brother's return. Ike was brandishing a set of keys, a proud curve to his lips.

"You want to take Butters somewhere special and free? You can take him to Aspen."

Kenny blinked. "What part of Aspen is free?"

"The part where you stay in our parents' timeshare," Ike responded. "Duh."

"You guys have a timeshare?"

Kyle sighed heavily. "Yeah, our parents and Stan's parents and Butters' parents got suckered into buying a timeshare in Aspen back when you died for awhile, but I don't think any of our families have used it since. We just keep the keys just in case." Here he paused to glare at his brother. "And we're _not supposed to lend them out_."

"Kenny's your _friend_, Kyle," Ike argued, tossing the keys to Kenny before Kyle could wrestle him for them. "And he needs a weekend away. It's not like I'm asking you to lend him your car." A pause. "I mean, unless you want to because, you know, he doesn't have one and Aspen's pretty far—"

"How are you going to convince Butters to let you take him to Aspen for a weekend? As soon as he finds out it's his parents timeshare, he's going to flip a shit," Kyle said logically, as usual. "And I'm _not_ giving you my car."

Kenny held the keys in his hand like they were some sort of sacred object, then pocketed them and got to his feet. Ignoring Kyle entirely, he pulled Ike into a hug. God, Ike was soft and he smelled like Axe and Chinese food, for some reason. But Ike was eleven and Kenny had a boyfriend, so—no. "Thanks, kid. I swear, if you weren't eleven and straight—"

"Bi-curious," Ike corrected, his voice muffled against Kenny's chest. He seemed quite content to be there. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

"Wait, _what_?" Kyle gaped, but the instant Kenny let go, Ike was running back up the stairs again. "Hey! Ike! Bi-_what_?"

Kenny chuckled. "Well, can you blame him? South Park is really, really gay."

"I—he's—_what_?"

Kyle had no further time to meditate on the revelation, however, because the smoke alarm suddenly went off and reminded him that he had left a frying pan on the stove to heat up. With a loud curse, Kyle spun on his heel and ran back into the kitchen. Kenny placed a hand over the pocket where the keys were, turning the idea over in his mind, and a smile spread on his face. A timeshare in Aspen. Ike really was a genius.

"I need to get that kid a bigass present for his birthday."

x

Butters Scotch wasn't an expert on girls or anything, no matter how well he got along with them, but he was pretty sure that what Cartman was doing was considered offensive. He didn't know where Cartman had gotten a poster-size picture of Patty Nelson, but he had gotten one and was now using a Sharpie marker and a laser pointer in order to run through various ways to get her from Step A (clothed and at the dance) to Step B (naked and in his bed). Butters had asked why Cartman felt the need to ask _him_ this when he'd never come even close to getting a girl naked before and Cartman had just told him to shut the fuck up and pay attention. Which meant that Butters wasn't going home any time soon.

"—and then I make up some bullshit about how my nuts will fall off if she doesn't sleep with me and see if that works." Cartman finished, drawing another line on the photo. If Butters didn't know better, he would have thought that Cartman seemed genuinely excited. It had to be his imagination. "Good thing she's paying for dinner because I blew my allowance enlarging this picture. What do you think?"

"I'ah think that was an awful waste of money, Eric," Butters replied honestly.

Cartman rolled his eyes. "About the _plan_, Butters."

"O-Oh. Well, it's ah—" Butters' phone vibrated, saving him from answering. "Excuse me a second, Eric."

The display said that he had a new text message and, when he flipped the phone open, he discovered that it was from Kenny. Feeling his heart race a little the way it always did when he was doing some Kenny-related, Butters opened the message and read, _want to run away with me for the weekend?_

Butters smiled and quickly sent something back. _I'd go anywhere with you, Kenny._

_Cool. We're going to Aspen for Valentine's day. And before you freak out, I asked your parents and they're fine with it._

Butters raised a dubious eyebrow. _Did you really?_

_Swear on my nuts._

Butters stifled a laugh at Kenny's vulgarity, not wanting to tip Cartman off as to who he was talking to. Cartman hated any and all reminders that he was the only one of his friends who wasn't "sucking dick", as he put it.

_Well, alright then. _

_Great. We're leaving Friday evening. Meet at my place._

Butters sent back one last affirmative, then pocketed his phone and looked up to see Cartman glowering at him. Oops. "Um—"

"I hate you, Butters," Cartman announced for what had to be the trillionth time since he and Butters had started hanging out. As though Butters needed the constant reminder when Cartman did awful things to him, like making a shit moustache under his nose while he was asleep and pissing on Butters when he thought Butters wasn't paying attention. It was a wonder Butters ever agreed to go to Cartman's house at all—well, besides the fact that he was still really, really afraid of Cartman and he had very few friends so he had to keep hold of the ones he did have, even if the ones he had hated him. It was a vicious cycle.

"I know, Eric," he responded as always. "How come you're not taking Wendy to the dance? I'ah thought you liked her."

"Because Wendy is a hippie whore and I don't want to catch the STDs she got from her black asshole of a boyfriend," Cartman said flatly. "And if you ever say anything like that again, I'll rip your balls off."

Cartman turned back to his poster-size picture of Patty Nelson and missed Butters rolling his eyes skyward. Cartman in love was a complex thing he never thought he would get to witness in his lifetime, but it made sense once he considered the kind of person Cartman was. Cartman seemed to hate Wendy just as much as, if not more than, he loved her and, at any given point of the day, could go from calling her a tramp, bitch, whore, or cocksucker to declaring her the future mother of his children and making plans to follow her wherever she wanted to go. Butters wasn't sure if Cartman even knew that love and hate were two essentially different emotions that just happened to be fueled by the same amount of passion. He guessed Cartman was just a passionate person.

Passionate sounded a lot better than psychotic, anyway.

"I don't wanna give you false hope or nothing, but I think Wendy really likes you, too," Butters said, fidgeting uncomfortably. If Wendy ever found out he was saying this, she'd probably rip his balls off, too, but he just couldn't stand seeing two people who belonged together being so miserable. Well, okay, Cartman didn't seem very miserable at the moment, but Wendy always looked miserable and Butters had a feeling it was Cartman's fault. "I'ah think that maybe if you tried talking to her again, you two might be able to work something out…"

"Butters," Cartman said as though he were a particularly retarded child. "I hate Wendy. She's a hippie. I hate hippies. And she's dating Token. I _hate_ Token. You know who I don't hate? Patty Nelson. I'm going to fuck her even if I have to kill you to do it."

"O-Oh."

Cartman set down the laser pointer and paused. "Maybe…"

"Yeah?"

Cartman jumped as though he'd forgotten that Butters was in the room with him, then scowled. "Shut the fuck up, Butters."

Butters sighed. "Okay, Eric."

x

The best thing about having a boyfriend rather than a girlfriend was that his boyfriend didn't expect him to do anything special for Valentine's day. If Stan were to show up at Kyle's door with flowers and a box of chocolate, Kyle would probably call him gay, remind him that he was diabetic, give the flowers to his mom, and give the chocolate to his brother. Of course, the fact that Kyle didn't expect anything fancy was also a problem because Stan _wanted_ to do something fancy. Sure he and Kyle weren't technically legitimately a _couple_-couple, but that didn't mean they had to spend Valentine's day just hanging out like they did when they'd been just friends. He wanted a little more than playing Gamecube and then making out.

He had narrowed his choices down to seeing a movie, which still sounded too ordinary, driving to North Park, which would make his parents suspicious if they realized what day it was and who he intended to go there with, or biting the bullet and going to the damn dance with Kyle. He didn't want to go to the dance and Kyle didn't want to go to the dance, but, damn it, that's what the regular couples were doing. And Stan had a rather nice image of Kyle swiveling his bony hips up against his own and Stan really wanted to turn that image into reality.

Stan wondered why it didn't creep him out in the slightest to be having these kinds of thoughts about Kyle on a regular basis. Kyle had been his best friend for years and years and Stan hadn't really wanted to bone him before now. Suddenly, it was all he could think about. The sudden shift should have given him whiplash, but it felt so natural that Stan didn't think too much about it.

Sometimes it got weird, though. Like when he'd caught himself researching the mechanics of gay sex on the internet the other day and had had to slam his laptop shut when his mother had come into his room to collect his laundry. Gay sex was a whole different ball game he didn't know all the rules to and, even though Kyle had said he wasn't ready, Stan didn't want to be caught off guard if he changed his mind. And he didn't want to ask Kenny because Kenny would laugh at him for weeks and then tell Kyle and then laugh even harder. So, the internet had seemed like the best option until he'd remembered that he was looking up the proper way to have buttsex with his best friend since childhood.

_Weird_.

Kyle was more than just his friend, though. Kyle was… _Kyle_. It was different with him and Stan was eager to find out how different. He was pretty sure he wasn't in love yet, but he was definitely in something.

Someone cleared their throat by the doorway and Stan glanced up to see both of his parents standing there in an awkward kind of way. It was alarming. One at once he could handle, but both of them meant that this couldn't be anything good.

"What?" he asked warily, sliding his paper underneath his pillow.

They exchanged glances, another bad sign, and then Sharon stepped forward and said in a voice rife with false cheer, "So, have you made any plans for Valentine's day yet?"

"Not exactly," Stan said with narrowed eyes. The sooner he figured out what they were up to, the easier it would be to put a stop to it. "I mean, I was just going to hang out with Kyle since neither of us have dates…"

"Correction: Kyle doesn't have a date," Randy took a long swig of the beer in his hand and burped before continuing. "_You've_ got two parents who love you enough to help you get laid."

"Randy," Sharon hissed in disapproval. She clasped her hands together and grinned at him. "We know you've been having a hard time getting back into the dating world since you and Wendy broke up. It's been ages since you've brought a girl home or even talked about one at dinner and we've been so concerned. So many nice girls go to your school—"

"I _hate_ all the girls I go to school with."

"—and we figured if we arranged a date for you, it might be just the push you need. You don't have to commit to anything and we're not exactly hoping for a relationship, but we thought one little date might cheer you up."

"Besides, it'll be good for you to have some time away from your faggy little friend." Randy added helpfully, leaning against the doorpost. "The Turners were all for it. You've spoken to Sally Turner before, haven't you?"

Stan glared at them silently.

Sharon cleared her throat. "Look, Stan, your father and I would really appreciate it if you just gave this a try. You and Kyle can hang out any old time, but we went to all this trouble on your behalf. One date won't kill you. After that, your time is yours."

Stan looked from one earnest face to the other—though his father looked less earnest and more drunk—and stifled a sigh. He wanted to say that he couldn't believe his parents had set him up on a fucking date with Powder of all people, but he supposed she was pretty tame as far as girls went. A total whore, but, then, what girl at South Park High School wasn't? And he was pretty sure she'd had her lips wrapped around Kenny's dick at least once, not that he'd been considering letting her do the same to him, but that meant a goodnight kiss was out. All factors considered, he didn't see much point in him going on the date with her when he couldn't touch her and he wouldn't enjoy himself. Oh, and he had a _boyfriend_.

Not that his parents knew that, which was the whole problem. Sharon and Randy were still watching him expectantly and Stan knew they wanted him to say yes. If he said no, there would probably be a repeat of last month and he probably wouldn't be allowed out of the house until he renounced his homosexual tendencies or promised not to talk to Kyle again or something. That was the last thing he needed.

If he had to go out on a date with Powder to get his parents off his back, well, it was for the greater good.

"Okay," he said reluctantly. "But if I go, you guys can't talk about my love life ever again. I mean it."

Sharon let out a huge sigh of relief. "That's great! Great to hear, honey. Why don't you take her to that dance I've heard kids talking about? You might have some fun there." Her eyebrows drew together. "Maybe you could set Kyle up with one of Sally's friends—"

"Maybe," Randy snorted. "If Sally's friends are guys."

"_Randy!_"

"What? Goddammit, Sharon, you'd think Stan had the Torah printed on his ass what with the way Kyle studies it."

Sharon glared at him and marched out of the room.

Randy downed what was left of his beer and gestured in Stan's general direction. "You be careful son. Don't bend over to pick anything up in front of that kid or you might be the victim of some surprise ass pounding."

"Kyle's not gay, Dad," Stan said, feeling a headache coming on.

"Yeah, sure he's not. Tell me another." Randy turned, stumbling a little, then turned to make one last point. "Your mother _wishes_ I looked at her the way Kyle looks at you. You'd better have a damn good time on your date, Stan."

Stan's chin lifted defiantly even though his heart was pounding in his chest. "What if I don't?"

"Well," Randy huffed. "At least you're not metrosexual."

He shuffled out of the room muttering to himself and Stan continued to lie there for a moment for lack of any idea of what to do next. Honestly, he kind of wanted to bang his head against the nearest wall until he lost consciousness and, if luck was on his side, he wouldn't wake up until after Valentine's day. But he'd promised his parents he would go on the stupid date with Powder and it wasn't like he could tell his parents that he couldn't because of Kyle. Especially not when his father apparently thought Kyle was in love with him or something. Which…

Hm.

Stan reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, pushing speed dial one and waiting.

"Stanley," Kyle greeted pleasantly. "I was just talking about you."

"Really?"

"No. What's up?"

Stan snorted and opened his mouth to tell Kyle exactly what was up, then thought about it. Telling one's boyfriend that one was going on a date with someone else on Valentine's day wasn't exactly something to be done over the phone. It seemed kind of rude and a tad insensitive.

"Can you come over? Or, actually, can I come over there?"

"My parents are home. How about I just meet you somewhere?"

Stan tried to think of something that would put Kyle in a good mood. "How about the arcade? I'll let you beat me at Guitar Hero _and_ I'll buy you a Fresca."

There was a long pause.

"Oh my god, you cheated on me, didn't you?"

"Um. No." _Except kind of yes, just not yet,_ Stan continued in his head. "So… arcade?"

"Ten minutes," Kyle said and hung up. Stan stared at the phone, a little insulted that Kyle's immediate thought when Stan mentioned Guitar Hero and Frescas was that Stan was cheating on him. He'd have to ask for an explanation for that correlation some other time.

It only took him about nine minutes to get to the arcade, but Kyle still beat him there. He was sitting at the counter, already sipping a Fresca, and watching a group of fourth graders play Carry On My Wayward Son. Stan smiled at the memories and took a seat next to Kyle.

Kyle raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you going to tell me his name or am I going to have to drag it out of you?"

"Her name," Stan conceded, taking the Fresca from Kyle and taking a sip. He wrinkled his nose. The stuff tasted like crap. He had no idea how Kyle could drink them. "It's Sally Turner—"

"_Powder_?"

"—and I didn't cheat on you with her. My parents set us up on a date for Valentine's day, apparently. And it's not like I could say, 'sorry, can't, I'm hanging out with my boyfriend that day'."

Stan was kind of expecting Kyle to explode on him at this point, since he'd done it before and for less, but Kyle was still staring at him as though he expected Stan to say something worse. Stan couldn't think of anything much worse than what he'd already said.

"We're going to the school dance?" he tried, handing back the Fresca.

Kyle shrugged and finished the rest of it. "That dance sounds so lame. Kenny and Butters have the right idea."

Stan was having a hard time following this civil conversation, but he made a valiant effort anyway.

"Kenny and Butters?"

"Kenny's taking Butters out to the timeshare in Aspen. It was Ike's idea," Kyle shook his head disapprovingly. "Ike gave them our parents' keys. I swear, if they find out, I'm totally selling him out. The little shit deserves it. And did you know he's apparently bi-curious? Because I—"

"Kyle," Stan said slowly. "I just told you I'm taking Powder out on a date on Valentine's day. Are we going to address that or what?"

"We did address it," Kyle sounded very much like it was _Stan_ who was unbalanced. "You told me. That's addressing it."

"You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

"I'm—I'm going on a date with someone else? I mean, aren't we—you're my—" Kyle's smile was widening with every word he attempted to say. Stan just gave up. "I don't get you."

"Dude, I don't care. You like me, don't you? And you hate Powder. What do I have to worry about? It's not like your parents know about you and me. They were just doing what they thought was best or some stupid shit like that. Another Fresca please."

Stan wanted to lean over and kiss him, but there were way too many people around. He settled for taking Kyle's hand instead. "Speaking of my parents and stupid shit, my dad thinks you're gay and in love with me."

Kyle hummed thoughtfully, but otherwise didn't comment. Stan shifted closer on his stool, feeling his heart start to race all over again. He cleared his throat.

"He was totally wasted at the time, but… he was one for two so…"

The man behind the counter set the Fresca down in front of Kyle and winked at him before leaving. Kyle sipped his Fresca and stared at Stan curiously, his eyes seeming larger and more piercing than usual, his pink lips stretched around the rim of the bottle. Stan's voice faltered.

"I—"

Kyle wasn't an idiot. It didn't take him long to figure out what had Stan so enraptured. He slid the Fresca bottle out of his mouth with deliberate slowness, tongue darting out to lick a single drop off the rim, and Stan stifled a groan and thanked whatever deity that was listening that he'd worn baggy jeans. A smile stretched across Kyle's face.

"Seriously, dude, stop _objectifying_ me," he teased. "How am I supposed to know if you're listening to _me_ or just waiting for me to wrap my lips around your dick?"

Stan stifled a moan. "You—You didn't answer my question."

"You didn't ask me one."

"My dad. What he said. Is it… _do_ you?"

Stan ducked his head a little, afraid of what Kyle would say. This time, instead of pounding, everything was quiet, as though his pulse had decided to check out for a while so Stan could hear everything. Kyle returned to sucking on his Fresca bottle for a couple of minutes, then set the bottle down on the counter.

"Do _you_?" he asked and that just wasn't fair. "Come on, Stan. We've just started getting this relationship thing right and now you want to talk about love? Don't you think it's a little too soon?"

Stan knew Kyle had a point, but that didn't stop him from feeling disappointed. "Yeah, I guess."

He turned away from Kyle and watched the kids populating the arcade as they played their games. Kyle's hand slid out of his a moment later and Stan felt that loss hard. Then, the hand touched his shoulder and he relaxed.

"I _don't_ have anything to worry about with you and Powder, right?" Kyle asked hesitantly. "I don't think I do, but—"

Stan brought Kyle's hand to his lips and kissed it. "It's fucking Powder, dude. You don't have a _thing_ to worry about."

Kyle smiled and Stan returned it and thought, yeah, maybe things were kind of perfect as is. It was a little too soon to be in love.

"So," he said after a long pause. "Bi-curious, huh?"

x

Even though it was just a silly holiday themed dance and nowhere near as important as next year's prom, Bebe and Wendy still crowded inside Wendy's bedroom hours before to get dressed and do their hair and makeup.

Even though Bebe had chopped her frizzy curls to chin-length, there was still an art to making it look sexy as opposed to uncontrollable. It was easier for Wendy. Her hair was shoulder-length now and she was concentrating on pulling it up into a bun with wavy tendrils framing her face. Whatever Wendy did, she'd end up looking gorgeous like she always did. Bebe actually had to work for it.

Wendy was wearing a white babydoll dress with a thin red belt and matching bow in her hair. Bebe, on the other hand, was wearing a black tied dress with lace trim and a matching fedora. She thought it was both amusing and oddly appropriate that she and Wendy were dressed in opposites.

The doorbell rang just as Bebe was helping Wendy finish her makeup and, a few seconds later, Mrs. Testaburger was screaming up the stairs that the boys had arrived. Bebe paused to blend Wendy's eyeshadow a little bit more, then checked her mascara. She and Wendy examined themselves in the mirror, then grinned at one another.

"This is going to be the lamest thing we've ever done," Bebe said, tossing Wendy her bag.

"Well, _duh_," Wendy agreed, pulling the door shut behind them.

They descended the stairs as slowly and dramatically as possible, for added effect. Token and Bradley were waiting by the door, dressed in identical penguin suits, though Token had cut his hair and Bradley had gelled his and they both looked as handsome as to be expected considering the frivolity of the evening. Wendy reached Token first and Bebe stepped past them, taking a quick breath to prepare herself for what she expected to be a pretty disappointing night. Still, it was better than being alone.

Bradley stretched out a hand as she got close and, as soon as she took it, he drew her to him and smiled. "Wow, Bebe, you look gorgeous."

"I know," Bebe teased, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. "You look pretty good, too."

"Smile for the camera, girls!" Mrs. Testaburger cried, an alarmingly large camera in her hands.

"_Mom_," Wendy complained, opening the front door. "It's a school dance, not prom. No pictures. And don't wait up, okay?"

It was freezing outside. Bebe wrapped her coat more tightly around herself and suppressed a shiver, resolving to go to college somewhere warm where she could actually see the ground. However, she was distracted from the cold when she caught sight of the shiny black Escalade that was parked on the cub. The one she knew for a fact didn't belong to Bradley.

Token slipped the keys out of his pocket and opened the car allowing Wendy, who was way ahead of them and entitled to shotgun anyway, to climb into the passenger seat. Bradley opened the back door for her and she paused to smile at him before getting in. She had forgotten that some guys were gentlemen. Most of the guys she'd dated or hung out with were complete and total assholes. This was… refreshing.

Token put on his seatbelt, started the engine, and then seemed to catch sight of her through the rearview mirror. "Oh," he said with a note of surprise. "You look nice, too, Bebe."

It stung like an insult so Bebe treated it like one.

"Oh, do I?" she responded sarcastically. "Thank you, Token."

He looked on the verge of saying something else, but Bebe turned to Bradley and engaged him in a conversation about his last choir tour that lasted even after Token finally started driving the damn car.

The parking lot wasn't very full, but they were juniors in high school. School dances were beyond lame and right into pathetic. As Bradley helped her out of the car, she caught sight of Lola leaning against the wall next to the door to the gym, smoking a cigarette, and headed over.

"Where's your date?" she asked, trying not to wrinkle her nose. Bebe had tried smoking once and had decided it wasn't for her, even before Wendy had given her the whole Smoking Kills lecture, and even now she didn't like the smell of it. Which sucked for her, because she knew more kids that smoked than she knew kids that didn't.

Lola exhaled. "I don't even know. Don't care either. That dance sucks out loud."

"Were you expecting any better?"

"Not really," Lola took another drag of the cigarette and then put it out under her foot. "I hear there's going to be a pretty killer afterparty at Craig's house, though. But that's at midnight and, right now, midnight seems too far away."

"Sulking about it out here won't make midnight come any faster," Bebe said as Bradley, Token, and Wendy joined her. She took Bradley's hand. "Bradley, Lola. Lola, you know Bradley."

Lola acknowledged him with a nod, then turned curious eyes on Token and Wendy. "What, still?"

"Huh?" Token asked at the same time Wendy snapped, "Yes, still!"

Lola snickered and went inside the gym. Wendy glared at Bebe, who shrugged, then dragged Token in as well. Bebe watched the door fall shut, then glanced at Bradley.

"It's not too late for us to turn around and run away."

Bradley laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "We already paid for tickets."

"Oh, shit."

"Yeah." He opened the door and gestured dramatically within. "After you, m'lady."

Bebe managed a grin, but, honestly, she was starting to remember why she hadn't dated or been friends with any gentlemen. If he offered to get her a drink, he was _so_ not getting any. And by getting any, she meant a kiss goodnight, because she wasn't that type of girl and she was pretty sure he wasn't that type of guy. There wasn't a part of Bradley that _didn't_ scream virgin.

Lola had been right. The only lighting in the room was coming from a multicolored disco ball that had been attached to the ceiling and the DJ was playing a remix of Kelly Clarkson's Since U Been Gone. There were a decent number of kids dancing, but most of them were milling about in the corners, crowding the snack table, or were idling by the doorways in anticipation of leaving.

Mr. Garrison and Big Gay Al were the only chaperones, but Mr. Garrison was too busy glaring at Big Gay Al to watch the kids and Big Gay Al was hitting on the DJ. Bebe hoped that was all in good fun since he and Mr. Slave were, to the best of her knowledge, still happily married. It was nice to know there was still true love _somewhere_.

"Want to dance?" Bradley asked after they'd dropped their coats in the empty classroom labeled 'COAT CHECK'.

Bebe shrugged, which was as good as a yes, and followed him out onto the dance floor.

x

Friday evening found Kenny packing a beat-up duffle bag into the trunk of Stan's car in preparation for the long trip to Aspen. Butters was supposed to arrive any minute and he was under strict instruction not to crash, dent, or do anything sexual inside the car. And he had to call Stan when he arrived so Stan knew that his car was okay. But, once Kenny had agreed to all these terms, Stan had quite willingly relinquished the keys to his car and Kenny had offered to feel him up in order to thank him. Stan had quite politely declined, but Kenny would get him one of these days.

He'd taken off work at the beginning of the week to drive up to Aspen on a trial run, making sure he knew how to get there, how much gas he'd need, and how long it would really take. He even had a spare tire in Stan's trunk (stolen from work) and a myriad of tools just in case the car broke down. He wasn't taking any chances with this trip. It might be the only one he and Butters got to take for a while.

The sound of barking interrupted the stillness of the neighborhood and Kenny glanced down at Sunday with a smile. The dog had been given a collar (courtesy of Butters) and had been well fed (courtesy of Kenny, though the food had been bought by Butters) and his good mood was contagious. Butters had insisted upon his dog coming with them, probably because he knew that Karen hated the thing and left it outside with the strays whenever Kenny was at work and Butters was at school. There really wasn't anything Kenny could do to stop her and since Butters' parents didn't want him to have a pet, especially not a dog, they weren't left with a lot of options. The extra mouth to feed was worth it, though, for the way Butters' eyes lit up whenever he came to visit his boyfriend and his dog.

Kenny closed the trunk and sat on the hood of the car to wait, toying with the strings on his parka. Ike had sent him a text message from Kyle's phone that morning, wishing him good luck and a safe trip and reminding him to practice safe sex. Kyle would probably have a heart attack to know exactly how shrewdly perverted his eleven year old brother was, but it wasn't up to Kenny to spoil Ike's fun. Especially not after what Ike had done for him.

Kenny perked up when he saw Butters approaching at the other end of the street, laughing as Sunday immediately began barking and darted up the block to meet his owner. Butters paused to pick up the dog, then sped up his pace until he was standing in front of Kenny with a bright smile on his face.

"Hiya, Ke—" Butters got out before Kenny cupped his cheeks and sealed their lips together. Butters immediately groaned into his mouth and, allowing his whining dog to leap safely from his arms onto the hood of the car, reached out and grabbed a fistful of Kenny's coat. The kiss was slow, a hot, wet savoring of one another's taste and Kenny felt a little lightheaded as he swiped his tongue along the roof of Butters' mouth and felt the shiver that ran through Butters' body. They were both smiling when they pulled away. "Well, gee, I'm real happy to see you, too."

"Ready to go?" Kenny asked, grabbing hold of Sunday and hopping down. Butters nodded and went around to the trunk to put away his things while Kenny put Sunday in the backseat of the car and went to start the engine. Butters slid into the car a moment later, leaning over to kiss Kenny one more time.

Sunday barked his approval from the backseat and Kenny began to drive. He made sure to stay under the speed limit because he didn't _technically_ have a license. He hadn't exactly had the time, the means or the money to enter the process. Then again, Butters didn't have one either because his parents thought that giving cars to teenagers encouraged drunk driving, teen pregnancies, and wild orgies. If they got pulled over by the police, they were screwed. Unless, of course, it was Officer Barbrady, in which case Kenny had a monopoly card in the glove compartment to distract him with.

Butters began telling him about school and how everyone had seemed to pair off, even down to the strangest couples like Stan and Sally and Cartman and Patty. Kenny asked who he'd paired up with and Butters admitted that he and Kyle had been spending an awful lot of time together in the library since both of their significant others were 'otherwise occupied'.

"He just mostly seemed annoyed with me, though. A-And when I brought up Stan, he'd get all sad," Butters seemed upset just thinking about it. "I'ah tried to tell him that if Stan's date was gonna be this hard for him, he oughta say something, but he said he was just mad he'd be spending Valentine's day with his little brother again."

"I _thought_ he was taking this a little too well. When Stan told me, even _I_ got pissed off."

Butters nodded, lower lip protruding in an obvious pout. "He just wants Stan to be happy. I just wish he'd believe me when I'ah tell him _he_ makes Stan happy."

"Kyle's a stubborn asshole," Kenny consoled. "He only wants to hear that from Stan and even then he might not believe it."

"He's in love with Stan, ain't he?"

"Yeah."

"And Stan's in love with him, too?"

"Ridiculously."

"I don't get it."

"Neither do they."

At the next stoplight, Butters reached over and took Kenny's hand but remained silent. He didn't have to explain, however. Kenny could read his thoughts clear as day on his face. Butters had a bad habit of ignoring his own problems in order to take the problems of the world onto his shoulders and this whole Stan and Kyle thing was no different. Kenny was sure it would resolve itself eventually because, honestly, how long could Stan play dumb? And how long could Kyle bite his tongue? Something had to give. Butters was the most optimistic person Kenny knew, but not, apparently, when it came to love.

"They'll work it out," he promised when a green light forced him to let go of Butters' hand. "I wouldn't worry about it."

Sunday barked as though in agreement and Butters giggled.

"Alright."

x

Despite what his parents had said, there was no fucking way Stan was going to a school dance. So, when he picked up Powder for their stupid date and they got into the car, he drove her to an Italian restaurant like a normal person.

"Thank god," she said when she noticed where they were. "I was honestly afraid we were going to the dance. Can you imagine?"

Stan could imagine a lot of things and none of them had anything to do with her. But he'd promised his parents he would try and have a good time so he smiled and let her take his arm. They didn't have a reservation or anything, but the waiter said that it was only a moderately busy night and gave them a beeper in case a table became available.

"Want to go for a walk?" Stan offered once they were back on the sidewalk.

Powder rested her head against his arm, her red hair cascading down her shoulders. "I'd love to."

Stan had to stifle a laugh at the thought of Kyle's hair doing anything other than staying immobile atop his head except when it was wet, in which case it tended to jiggle a little like jell-o. At the end of the nuclear holocaust, the survivors would be cockroaches, twinkies, and Kyle's hair.

"What are you smiling about?" Powder asked.

"Nothing," Stan schooled his expression into one of nonchalance. "Not a thing."

They found a bus stop and took a seat on the bench, Stan sitting against one arm and Powder sitting too close for comfort. He'd be at his most comfortable if she was at home and Kyle were in her place, but their thighs were touching and everything. He sighed.

"You know, I was actually pretty surprised when my parents told me we were going on this date," she said softly, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "I mean, I always thought you hated me. And everyone knew you were kind of off-limits even after Wendy dumped you. She's not even interested in you like that anymore and she's still telling girls hands off. What's up with that?"

Stan had to hide another smile. "I have no idea."

"I've always liked you, though, Stan. I don't know how anyone couldn't, honestly. You're on the football team and you're really good-looking and you're sort of a nice guy." She grinned. "Did I mention really good-looking?"

She scooted a little closer on the bench and Stan could totally tell where this was going. He expected to feel something, panic most likely, but it was like he'd shut off all emotion before showing up. He was peripherally aware that she was going to touch him and that was bad, but he just couldn't find it in him to care. What was the point? Whether she touched him or not, he'd still be stuck on the stupid date because his stupid parents didn't want him catching the gay from Kyle. His parents were so dumb.

"Stan?" Powder placed a hand on his cheek and used it to turn his head toward her. "Stan, I've heard some things at school. Things about you and Kyle. And if they're true… I'm, like, all for alternative lifestyles, you know? I think Big Gay Al is really cool. So, if you don't want to be here, you don't have to be."

It was only the fact that he'd made a promise that kept him from getting up and leaving her there. She was giving him an out, which gave her points in his book, but he couldn't take it. Kyle was probably at home babysitting his brother while his parents went on a date, wondering why he was alone on Valentine's day when he _had_ a boyfriend. Stan wanted so badly to be with him right now. It was like a physical ache. He didn't know when his body had started to need Kyle like this, but it hurt.

"I want to be here," he said in an even tone. "Our parents were just trying to help."

Her smile returned. "That's great to hear."

Her eyes closed and she leaned in and Stan didn't realize he was leaning away until his beeper went off and saved him. He was on his feet in a second. "Table's ready. We should get back."

She held on to his arm again as they made their way back to the restaurant. Stan gave the beeper back to the waiter who put it in a basket and led them to a small, intimate table near the back of the restaurant. Of course, because God hated him, the table was right next to one being shared by another couple.

"Craig, what the hell are you doing here?" he asked, too exhausted to be annoyed.

Craig flipped him off. "I'm on a date with my boyfriend. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"H-Hey, Stan," Tweek flinched violently. "AH!"

Powder greeted them both politely, but Stan took his seat and grabbed his menu without another word. His childhood hatred of Craig hadn't faded with time and he, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny still competed with Craig and his gang on occasion. It would help if Craig had stopped being such a little douchebag, but he seemed quite determined to hold the whole Peru thing over their heads for the rest of their lives. When Craig wasn't outright ignoring them, he was making their lives living hell and flipping them off like it was _their_ fault he hated them. Stan fucking hated Craig.

"I have to use the bathroom," Powder said, glancing around for a waiter. "Just get me some water to start with, okay? I'll be right back."

Stan watched her walk away, then looked at the door and wondered if he really had the balls to run for the door.

"Psst," Craig hissed, leaning over from his table to smirk at Stan. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you a flamer and isn't that _not_ your boyfriend?"

Stan glared at him. "Mind your own business."

"Does Broflovski know you're trying to go back in the closet?"

"Fuck you, Craig."

"D-Don't go back in the c-closet, Stan," Tweek added, left eye twitching. "It's DARK and SC-SCARY in there."

Craig scooted his chair around the table and wrapped an arm around Tweek's waist, drawing the twitchy blond boy against him. Tweek started flinching even more violently for a moment, but then, to Stan's surprise, he relaxed until he was simply trembling and buried his head against Craig's neck. He was so stunned that all the anger just drained out of him and he was left staring in awe.

"What?" Craig asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Nothing," Stan shook his head to clear. "It's just—When I first heard the two of you were dating, I kind of thought it was a joke. But you—but you guys—you're really—"

"Got a problem?"

"No. No, just the opposite, actually. I think it's…" Stan felt that familiar sense of disappointment again and lowered his gaze. "I think it's great."

Craig was now eyeing him oddly, but Powder had returned from the bathroom and waiter had finally appeared to take their orders and the conversation was over. Stan twisted his napkin in his fingers, wishing yet again that he was with Kyle instead.

He suddenly felt very lonely.

x

"Oh my god, just _go look for him_ then!" Ike cried, tossing down his cards.

Kyle blinked at him. "I have no idea who you're talking about."

The two of them were in the living room playing Go Fish while their mother made dinner in the kitchen and their father took a shower upstairs. Kyle hadn't been paying very close attention to the game since he'd been a little too preoccupied staring at his phone every five seconds, hoping Stan would call or text or _something_. He'd barely seen Stan all week and the few times he had seen Stan, they'd spent it making out in anticipating of the next dry spell. Powder was like a leech who had fastened herself quite tightly to Stan's arm and refused to let him go.

"You know exactly who I'm talking about," Ike said petulantly. "You've been sighing at your cell phone all day. He's not going to call and I _know_ you don't want _me_ to be your valentine. Go find him and put me out of my misery!"

"Find who?" Sheila asked as she entered the living room, wiping her forehead with a rag. "And dinner will be ready soon, bubeleh."

"No one, mom," Kyle said, glaring at Ike. "Ike's just being annoying."

Sheila came up behind him and removed Kyle's hat in order to ruffle his hair. There was a worried frown on her face. "It's getting late, bubbe. Shouldn't you be going out?"

"With who?"

"With Stan, of course."

"Stan's got a date," Kyle couldn't help the bitter undertone to his voice, but he hoped his mother wouldn't notice.

The horrified gasp she emitted shocked both boys. "WHAT, WHAT, _WHAT_? With _who_?"

Ike looked just as puzzled as Kyle did as he responded, "Some girl named Sally Turner, mom. His parents set him up with her."

"But—But—" She put a hand to her face and sank down on the couch, staring at Kyle like he'd grown another head. Kyle warily got to his feet while Ike looked around for something to fan her with. He found an opened envelope from that day's mail and used that.

"Mom, what's wrong?" Kyle asked, sitting down on her other side. "Stan's gone on dates before. Remember Wendy?"

"But—" Sheila shook her head once. "I thought the two of you were dating. When did that stop?"

Ike dropped the envelope.

Kyle knew that all the color had drained from his face, but he still tried to laugh it off. It ended up sounding hollow and terrified. "Mom, what are you talking about? Stan and I are just friends. I—we're not even—we're not gay."

At this, Sheila snorted and gave Kyle a look of complete disbelief. "Bubbe, I love you, I do, but you've been in love with Stan since the two of you were kids. I let you figure that out on your own, even when you were running around with Rebecca Tucker and Bebe Stevens, but I _know_ the two of you have had something going on for at least a couple of months now."

"I—You—How—"

"You go, Mom!" Ike clapped his hands together gleefully. "How could you tell? I mean, Kyle's pretty gay all the time, but what tipped you off for sure?"

"Well," And she actually began to think about it. "I think what really got me was when your brother was about twelve or thirteen and he was on the phone with Stan, yelling at him or snapping or something, and he said, 'Dude, you called me Wendy. Don't confuse me with your girlfriend, Stan. I'm not your girlfriend!' And I don't know what Stan said, but Kyle said, 'What's that supposed to mean?' And the next thing I knew, they weren't talking for the three hours it took Stan to come over and apologize. The next day, Kyle had Bebe."

Kyle's face felt hot. He remembered that argument. It hadn't been as big of a deal as he'd made it. Stan often got mixed up and called Kyle or Wendy by the wrong name. But that day, Stan had been late to lunch because he'd been busy making out with Wendy in the hallway and he'd just gotten so annoyed that a stupid girl could take so much of Stan's time away from him and so easily that the sound of her name had made him snap. Stan really hadn't deserved that and Kyle had felt so bad that when he had mentioned that they didn't have much time to hang out anymore and Stan had suggested he get a girlfriend too so they could sneak best friend time into double dates, Kyle had been willing to do anything. Even ask Bebe out.

Ike was laughing. "I beat you. They were _ten_. Kyle found that genie's lamp in the backyard and his first wish was that Stan was there. And his second wish was that Stan could get a wish, too. I don't remember what Stan's wish was—I think he blew it on permanent free access to Cartmanland just to piss Cartman off—but I knew for sure then."

"Liar," Kyle said weakly. "You couldn't have known then. You were four."

"Genius," Ike reminded him. "And you're really freaking gay."

"I still don't understand. Why is Stan out on a date with—who was it? Sally something?—when he should be here with you?" Sheila asked, drawing Kyle close like he was a little kid or something. "Do you two have an open relationship like me and your father?"

"Aagh, mom!" Ike and Kyle said simultaneously, not needing the reminder of their parents' deviant sex habits. They were still bleaching their brains from the last time they'd come home to find a half-naked guy who was not their father taking the last of the whipped cream from the refrigerator.

"What'd I say?"

Kyle shuddered, erasing the image from his mind. "It's…" he began, unsure where to even begin. He was still weirded out by the fact that his mother had not only known that he was gay, but she'd known that he and Stan were dating for the last two months, and didn't care. He'd expected yelling. Screaming. A war on Canada. This… he didn't know how to deal with this. "Stan's… he's out with Sally because his parents thought… well, his parents are afraid that he might be gay and they're doing whatever they can to… stop it."

"WHAT, WHAT, WHAT?" Sheila said again, getting up so fast she nearly overturned the coffee table. "They can't _force_ him to be straight! He is who he is and they need to teach him to be _proud_! Why, I have half a mind to call them up right now—or, better yet, I'll drag them with me to PFLAG, see if they can't learn to love their gay son for who he is—"

"Mom!" Kyle panicked. "Please, please, _please_ don't do that."

"—buttons they can wear and some pride t-shirts! This isn't Laramie, Wyoming! The mayor should be notified and I can draw up a petition for—"

Ike's eyes widened. "Whoa, now."

"—an OUTRAGE! I'll march right over there and—"

"What are you protesting now, dear?" Gerald Broflovski asked as he descended the stairs with a newspaper in his hand. "And when's dinner?"

"Stan's parents set him up on a date with a girl to try and force him to be something he's not!" Sheila huffed. "It's disgusting!"

Gerald stared at Kyle. "I thought you and Stan were dating."

"You _both_ knew?" Kyle groaned, burying his face in his hands. "We've been sneaking around for nothing? I thought you'd freak out."

"Why would we do that, bubeleh?" Sheila ruffled his hair again. "We're happy for you and Stan. It's certainly better than the alternative."

"What's the alternative?" Ike asked with an amused grin. "Girls?"

Gerald sat down on the couch and unfolded his paper. "I always thought it was a toss-up between Stan and that Cartman kid. I think you made the better choice."

Kyle was glad he hadn't eaten anything, because he would have thrown it up right then and there.

"_Cartman_? Why would ever think I would—with _Cartman_?"

"That boy had an unhealthy obsession with you," Sheila said, sitting down next to her husband. "I swear, I thought I saw him in this house at night hundreds of times when you were little. And then there was that time he gave you AIDS. There were times your father and I thought that picking on you was the only way a kid that messed up knew how to show his affection."

No, nevermind, Kyle was going to throw up his stomach acid if he had nothing else to give.

"You've got a point," Ike agreed, clearing the cards from the coffee table and beginning to shuffle them. "But Kyle's always been about Stan, so if Cartman _is_ a repressed homosexual, he's not getting in these pants any time soon."

Yep, yep, he could feel it coming up.

"Anyway," Ike continued as though sensing that Kyle was about to get vomit all over the place. "I've been trying to convince Kyle to go after Stan all night, but he seems to want Stan to do this and get it out of his system, so I say we just play cards until either Stan calls or Kyle stops being a pussy and calls _him_."

Sheila took the cards from him and shuffled with all the expertise of a blackjack dealer. "Sounds like a plan."

Ike and Kyle sat down around the coffee table again and Kyle took the opportunity to check his phone. Still nothing. He slipped it into his pocket and was surprised to find tears stinging at his eyes. He smiled up at his family.

"You guys… thanks for… I mean, I wasn't expecting… it's really great that you all…" He took a shaky breath to keep from being a giant vagina and doing something really gay, like crying. "I know not everyone's going to be this accepting of me and Stan, but I'm glad that's not going to start here. I—I really love him."

Gerald smiled. "We're proud of you, son. It doesn't matter to us who you're in love with, as long as it's not Eric Cartman."

Kyle laughed. "Deal."

x

The first bump in the road came when they were driving along a long stretch of highway fresh out of Edwards. The car coughed like it had woken up with a head cold and began to rumble to a stop.

"Are you kidding me?" Kenny cursed and pulled over.

Butters had climbed into the backseat on the last rest stop and was stroking the head of the sleeping dog in his lap. Now, he wished he was back in the passenger seat, if only to kiss away the wrinkle of worry on Kenny's forehead. That wrinkle had been making an appearance a lot lately and Butters was dying to know why. He knew it was awful cliché to tell Kenny that he couldn't fix the problem if he didn't know what it was, but it was true, wasn't it?

Kenny was cursing and muttering to himself as he got out of the car and went to check under the hood. Butters put down the window so he could watch Kenny roll up his sleeves and bend over the engine.

He hadn't exactly told Kenny this or anything, but seeing him all dirty and greasy and sweaty, his arms flexing as he handled those car parts… well, it was kind of hot. Butters carefully set Sunday next to him on the seat and mashed his knuckles together, trying to think about something else. He'd tried explaining this to Craig in the bathroom last week and Craig had snickered and said it "made sense" that "good, clean Butters wanted a dirty, dirty boy". It seemed like the sort of thing Kenny would find funny, too, because he and Craig had a pretty similar sense of humor, but Kenny didn't really look like he wanted to laugh right now.

"We need an oil change," he announced after a moment, running his fingers through his hair and unintentional streaking grime through it. "I don't know where the next rest stop is. Let me see if there's any in the trunk…"

Butters paused to check on Sunday, then got out of the car and followed Kenny to the back. Aside from their bags, Sunday's bed, some dog food, a spare tire, and a tool box, the trunk was empty.

"Fuck," Kenny said succinctly.

Butters squeezed his eyes shut. His colorful vocabulary was another thing he found particularly hot about Kenny. In combination with being dirty, it was all he could do not to jump on his boyfriend at the side of the road.

A loud noise startled Butters into opening his eyes again and he turned to Kenny, who had slammed the trunk closed and was now glaring at it.

"I can't believe I forgot to check the damn oil. That's such a stupid mistake," he said and the sheer amount of self-loathing in the statement made Butters want to cry. "The drive's only supposed to take about four hours and now…"

Butters took his hand. "I'ah don't mind waking Sunday up and going to the gas station. Wherever it is."

"I'm not going to make you walk all the way to a gas station when we don't even know how far away it is."

"I'ah don't mind—"

"Well, maybe you should!"

Kenny pulled his hand out of Butters' grip and walked around the other side of the car. Butters hesitated for only a moment before darting after him. This time, when he took Kenny's hand, it was to swing him around and shove him back against the car.

"That's it, mister!" Butters growled. "I don't know what your problem is, but we're not going anywhere until you talk to me!"

Kenny sighed. "We're not going anywhere anyway."

Butters was well aware that his face extremely easy to read, so he knew for a fact that Kenny could tell he wasn't playing around. He waited the thirty seconds it took for all the fight to drain out of him and then reached up to stroke his cheek. Even as guarded as he was, Kenny still melted into the touch, which meant that he wasn't sore at Butters, at least. Butters kind of wished he was though. He could deal with Kenny being sore at him; it was a little harder when Kenny was sore at himself.

"I just—" Kenny sighed again, bringing a hand up to cover Butters'. "I just wanted to do something nice for you. You're always telling me I don't have to and that just being with me is good enough, but I don't want you to have to settle for me, Butters. I want to give you everything and I can't give you anything and it just pisses me off."

"Kenny—"

"And don't tell me that I'm all you need or my love is enough or any of that bullshit because it's not going to help. I've never been good enough for you, but I love you too damn much to let you go find something better."

Butters brought his other hand up to the other side of Kenny's face, then knit his fingers together at the back of Kenny's head and brought him down until their foreheads touched. Kenny closed his eyes and inhaled shakily.

"You know," Butters began slowly, brushing his fingers through Kenny's hair much like he'd been doing with Sunday not ten minutes ago. "When we were kids, I'ah always thought you were so cool. But you were always in the background of Stan and Kyle and Cartman and, when you died, they started holding contests to find a new fourth, like you were replaceable or something."

"I remember you being better at this," Kenny whispered.

"Well, I'ah wasn't done," Butters kissed his nose and grinned. "I got to be the new Kenny and hang out with Stan and Kyle and Cartman, but eventually they got sick of me, too, and they replaced me with Tweek and then Tweek with you again and I started to realize something. You can't judge your own worth based on other people's. You think you're not good enough for me? _I_ used to think I wasn't even good enough to _be_ you. And I ain't with you because I think you can or can't give me things or because you're good or not good. I'm with you because you're the guy I'm in love with and you make me feel like I mean something. I never had that before."

Kenny's eyes opened, the emotion in them raw. "Butters…"

"You could fly me to Paris or take me to City Wok with a coupon and I wouldn't love you more or less than I do right now. I give a damn about you, Kenny McCormick, so maybe you oughta start giving a damn about yourself."

Butters opened his mouth to receive the kiss that followed, the sheer desperation and adoration in it making his knees weak. Kenny smelled vaguely like smoke and dirt and Butters gasped into the kiss, his hips twitching into motion as he pressed closer for more. Kenny's hands slid down to his ass and hoisted him off his feet. Butters barely had time to wrap his legs around Kenny's waist before he was suddenly the one being slammed up against the car while Kenny dragged his tongue along the roof of his mouth and made him lose his ability to think.

It was no wonder, then, that neither of them realized they were no longer alone until a car horn caused them to move apart and then turned, dazed and breathless, to see a man in a very large hat peering at them from a Camry parked behind them.

"Do you boys need some help?"

Kenny looked at Butters, who shrugged. "We need an oil change."

The man climbed out of the car and removed his hat, revealing a can of oil balanced on top of his head. "I happen to have some right here."

Kenny blinked, but Butters just accepted the can without asking for an explanation. They weren't _that_ far out of South Park. Not far enough for people to stop being weird, anyway.

x

Wendy didn't run into Cartman until she was on her way back from the girls' bathroom. The bathroom had been converted into a full-fledged lounge and one of the girls had disabled the smoke alarm so they could pass around cigarettes. It was also a good place to go and bitch about your date while he remained in the gym, unaware, which was what Wendy had been doing. Not that Token had done anything for her to bitch about, but that was the whole problem. He was so goddamn boring. She didn't think it counted as a spark in their relationship if he made her so bored that she was angry.

She was considering whether to go back into the gym or to go and find an empty classroom to hide in for awhile when she heard whispers around the corner. One of the voices clearly belonged to Cartman and she could only assume the second voice belonged to his date.

"—natural charm. Though I admire you for resisting for so long," Cartman was saying smugly.

Patty Nelson giggled. "Are you always this full of yourself?"

"Would _you_ like to be full of myself?"

Wendy groaned silently, but Patty Nelson actually sounded like she was considering it. More than just considering it, if the way they had suddenly gone silent was any indication. Anger pulsed through her and she was rounding the corner as loudly and indiscreetly as possible before she knew what she was doing.

The kissing couple sprang apart, but not before Wendy got an eyeful of Cartman's hands halfway up Patty Nelson's shirt.

Her eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't the two of you be in the gym? Chaperoned dry humping is school-sanctioned and less slutty than having sex up against a locker."

"And now the hippie bitch interrupts to lecture us," Cartman retorted, reeling his embarrassed date back in. "As though she isn't the expert on slutty behavior."

Patty Nelson twisted out of his arms, face red. "I'm going to—I've got to—bathroom!" she squeaked, running past Wendy and around the corner. A wise choice. If Wendy had been done with Cartman, she would have chased her down. As it was, she simply folded her arms and waited.

Cartman didn't make her wait long. "Shouldn't you be with your black asshole of a boyfriend instead of running around cockblocking people?"

"I wasn't aware there was anything to cockblock," Wendy snapped. "I thought Patty Nelson was a little above that, but I should've known there are no virgins in South Park."

"Not as long as _I_ live here," Cartman stretched his arms over his head, then eyed her with a little too much amusement. "Jealous, Testaburger?"

"Of _what_?"

Cartman appraised her for a moment, then snorted. "I wouldn't fuck _you_ up against a locker," he announced, sticking his hands in the pocket of his pants and heading down the hallway in the opposite direction from the gym.

Wendy gaped after him for a moment, ignoring the way that stung, then ran after him. "Where are you _going_?"

"What does it matter? You're going to follow me, anyway."

"I'm _not_ following you."

Cartman started laughing.

Wendy stopped, her cheeks red with shame and clenched her fists so tightly she nearly broke the skin. What was she doing? She was acting like his jealous girlfriend when she was neither jealous nor his girlfriend and, anyway, she had a boyfriend whom she cared about very much and—oh, who was she even kidding? Token was no Cartman and for some reason Wendy found that a character flaw. But Cartman was also _Cartman_ and that was an even bigger character flaw. She was stuck in some kind of hellish limbo where she wanted so, so badly to be with a guy who was all wrong for her and had to use a guy who bored her to keep him at bay until he changed his ways. And Cartman would never change his ways.

"This is stupid," she said at last. "I'm going back."

Cartman caught her by the wrist before she could go anywhere, his face oddly serious. The intensity in his eyes scared her just as much as it made her heart race and she wondered if he thought she looked beautiful, too.

"Every time I talk to you," he began, voice low and sending shivers down her spine. "It's like you've been replaced with a giant pussy. What happened to the bitch who beat the shit out of me on the playground in front of everyone because I made fun of tittie cancer?"

"Don't call it that," Wendy said without any real heat. She seemed to realize it and tensed. "_Don't_ call it that."

Cartman ignored her. "But then, you'll do something completely out of line with the kind of girl everyone thinks you are. Like, oh, say, shoot a woman into the sun. Or kiss me while you're still with Stan. Or—and this is my personal favorite—get Bebe to pay Patty Nelson to ask me out for Valentine's day so you could be sure I was at the dance for you to talk to when you inevitably ditched Token."

"What—" Wendy felt like she'd been slapped. "What—"

"Patty Nelson wouldn't touch me with _your_ vagina," Cartman said patiently. "But she _did_ come into a lot of money this week and she _is_ saving up to buy herself a bicycle once she gets into Julliard and Bebe Stevens sure as hell isn't rich enough to be shelling out a hundred bucks for no reason. The way she went running from you just now confirmed it. I _invented_ complex schemes, bitch; you're an amateur."

The shame returned full-force and Wendy couldn't even look at him anymore. "Actually, I mentioned to Red that you were looking for a girl to take advantage of on Valentine's day and she and the other girls got together and decided that Patty Nelson should be the one to take a hit for the team because no one likes her. They all chipped in to give her the money. I just maybe kind of told her that if she touched you, she'd regret it. Um, in more colorful terms, but…"

"Huh."

"Yeah."

"That's kinda hot."

"What?" Wendy looked up to see him advancing on her with an odd look in his eye, a look that made warmth pool in her stomach. "What are you doing?"

Cartman pressed one hand against the locker by her ear while the other one touched her hip oh-so-lightly. Wendy was a little ashamed to find herself trembling.

"Your senseless manipulation of your fellow classmates, your utter disregard for the sacrificial lamb known as Patty Nelson, your self-righteous hypocrisy, the way you made her run away wetting herself with nothing but a look, and all of this done behind the back of your ignorant boyfriend…" he was looking down at the fingers trailing along her hip bone, not at her, but Wendy felt trapped by his gaze anyway. "I always knew we weren't so different."

_So, so wrong, _Wendy swallowed. She felt ashamed and guilty and _dirty_, but not for the right reasons. She _wasn't_ sorry for what she'd done, what she was doing, and it was horrible and wrong and she wanted him to kiss her so badly she could almost taste him, but she couldn't—wouldn't—let him. Not here. Not now.

He chuckled. "Don't worry, ho. Eventually, that annoying conscience thing shuts the fuck up and just lets you get on with ruining other people's lives."

The sound of footsteps broke the spell and Wendy shoved him away from her just in time for Mr. Garrison to enter the hallway and glower at them.

"Wendy, Eric, I don't know or care what the two of you were arguing about this time, but do it in the gym where God is watching."

"Yes, Mr. Garrison," Wendy said immediately, hurrying to put as much distance between her and Eric Cartman as possible. Her heart was still pounding and her skin still tingled where he'd touched her. She'd never, ever felt that with Token and she doubted she ever would. The look in his eye, his voice, his words… all of it was hanging over her like a cloud, caressing her skin, making goosebumps rise on her arm.

_Wrongwrongwrong, _she repeated like a mantra, finding Token with Bebe in one of the better lit corners of the gym. She grabbed his arm. "I don't feel well. I want to go home right now."

Token blinked in surprise. "You do look kind of pale—"

"Right now, Token, _please_."

"But, we're Bebe and Bradley's ride, too—"

"They can get another ride home. I just need to leave."

Token glanced back at Bebe as though asking for her permission or something.

She waved a dismissive hand at them. "Go. I'd leave if I could."

Token wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her out, his free hand sending a text message on his phone. As they left the gym, Wendy caught sight of Cartman leaning against one of the walls and made the mistake of locking eyes with him.

_Happy Valentine's day,_ he mouthed with a smirk and she shuddered so violently that Token offered her his suit jacket until they got to the coat check room.

What was she _doing_? And, more importantly, what was Cartman going to do next?

x

About halfway through the meal, Stan was so fucking depressed he didn't even want to be around himself. He'd made an effort to follow Powder's convoluted stories about girl politics, but his eyes kept being drawn inevitably to the table next to theirs and the couple that were so obviously made for one another in a way Powder only _wished_ they were. Over the course of _their_ meal, Craig had not only complied with each and every single one of Tweek's neurosis (from not eating any meat because "I-I heard in B-Biology th-that they contain DANGEROUS TOXINS THAT COULD KILL US" and picking the tomatoes out of Tweek's salad because "RED is EVIL"), but he had also calmed Tweek down with a look or a touch and even made Tweek blush by doing something under the table that Stan was pretty sure he didn't want to know.

It was evident that they had formed a real bond, that they cared for one another, and they weren't even as close as he and Kyle were. Stan didn't really think that anyone was as close as him and Kyle.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Stan announced after watching Craig use a napkin to wipe some ranch dressing off Tweek's nose. He got up and it took a lot of willpower to actually go to the bathroom instead of the door.

As soon as he was pacing in front of the urinals, he pulled out his phone and checked for any new messages. Kyle hadn't even sent a text to wish him good luck or something equally stupid and silly to put him in a good mood. Stan wondered if Kyle was waiting for him to send one. He wondered if Kyle thought that Stan wasn't sending one because he was having way too good of a time. He wondered if Kyle was thinking about him at all.

Then the bathroom door opened and Craig stepped inside.

"Marsh, you're killing me," Craig said, shaking his head. "And you never answered my question. Why are you out with Powder if you're just going to spend the whole night pining over Kyle?"

"I'm not pining over Kyle," Stan snapped, even though he totally was. "Kyle and I aren't even like that."

"But you want to be?"

"Yes. No! I don't—it's none of your fucking business, dude." Stan turned to face one of the mirrors, glaring at Craig through the glass when the asshole came up behind him. "_What_?"

"I've seen the two of you making out at school at least once so isn't it a bit late for you to be questioning your sexuality?"

"I'm _not_."

"What are you? Kylesexual?"

Stan laughed almost against his will, then turned to face Craig with a sigh. "I don't know. I just… I think I like Kyle, but I'm not sure if it's like that and we're just messing around right now and I think I want more, but I don't know if it's because I like _Kyle_ or the kissing. I'm just… confused."

"I get it," Craig said about a second and a half before his lips crashed into Stan's.

"What the—" Stan managed to get out before Craig's tongue slid into his mouth and Craig's hands gripped his hips tight. He was too shocked to even think about what was going on, but when Craig pulled away, he burst out, "—fuck?"

"Did that do anything for you?"

"Besides make me nauseous? What the hell was that for?"

Craig flipped him off. "That was a kiss. A kiss that didn't come from Kyle. Did you like it?"

Stan was about to state the obvious, but paused. "I—I was kind of too surprised to really—what about Tweek?"

"Let me worry about Tweek. If it stops you from watching us like we're a feature film on Skinemax, I don't care." Craig moved in close again and this time Stan let him, trying not to flinch as Craig's fingers stroked his cheeks and their lips met again. This kiss was slower, less intense, with a softness that reminded Stan of the kisses Kyle gave him in the morning when he'd brushed his teeth, but hadn't brushed his hair yet. He liked those kisses almost as much as the fast, dirty ones they shared when they were writhing around in a tangle on the bed, dry humping like there was no tomorrow.

The last time Kyle's parents had gone out, he had invited Stan over and they had made out on the couch, Kyle straddling his hips, and his hands caressing Kyle's scrawny body like it was heaven under his fingertips. Which, in a way, it kind of was. Kyle made the best sounds when they were kissing. Stan wanted to hear all of the sounds he could make.

"Dude," Craig said, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Do I need to leave you and your imagination alone?"

Stan realized that he and Craig were no longer kissing and, by his estimation, had stopped a while ago. His cheeks flamed. "I was… I was thinking about Kyle."

"I figured," Craig flipped him off one more time on his way to the door. "Get rid of the girl and go home to your boyfriend, Stan. And get rid of that boner before you go back to the table. You might give Powder the wrong idea."

Stan remained in the bathroom for another ten minutes, making up his mind, and when he finally did return to the table, Craig and Tweek were gone and he had come to a decision.

"Look, Powder, this has been really great," he lied as he flagged down the waiter. "And I'm sorry if this ruins your holiday, but the stuff you heard about me and Kyle was true. I tried, for our parents' sake, but I have to go see him."

"I figured," Powder said, taking out her purse. "You looked so miserable. Don't even worry about the check. Craig's waiting outside to drive me home so you can just take off and pay me back at school on Monday, okay? You and Kyle are really cute."

Stan smiled. Okay, maybe Powder didn't suck that hard. "Thanks."

He took out his cell phone as he hurried out of the restaurant, sending Kyle a quick text and nearly running straight into Craig and Tweek on his way to his car.

Tweek, cradling a cup of coffee, chucked it at Stan in a way that might have looked completely accidental all things considered if it weren't for the way he glared at Stan afterward.

"Dude!"

"F-Find your own!" Tweek announced before shuddering and hiding behind Craig. "AH, GOD, HE'S GONNA GET ME!"

Craig snickered. "Night, Marsh."

Pissed off, but in too big of a hurry to really do anything, he kicked the empty coffee cup toward the two of them and kept going. Kyle came first. He could shower later.

x

"They reached the timeshare," Ike said while Sheila and Gerald washed plates in the kitchen. He and Kyle were playing War while they waited and Kyle was losing. Badly. "Kenny says he's in such a good mood that he and Butters will probably fuck on every available surface. Also, he finds this whole thing hilarious."

Kyle rolled his eyes and didn't even bother to ask why Kenny would text his little brother with that information instead of him. When had Kenny and Ike had the time to get so close? And, with Ike being bi-curious, did he have to watch out for Ike's virginity?

The bell rang and interrupted his musing.

Ike snorted. "Your boyfriend's here."

"What makes you think that's Stan?" Kyle asked even as he hurried to the door. "It could be the mailman."

"This late at night? And, anyway, what about the text he sent you saying 'I'm coming over'?"

"Yeah, well."

Kyle opened the door to reveal none other than Stan, his shirt stained with a brown liquid that smelled suspiciously of coffee and his hair a mess. Kyle forgot all of that, however, when he saw the heated look in Stan's eyes and the way Stan scanned the room behind him for parents before backing him inside and kissing him soundly.

Kyle knew there was a reason they shouldn't be doing this, but he couldn't remember it. Instead, he groaned and brought his hands up to clutch at Stan's back. He tasted like Italian food and smelled very strongly of coffee and sweat, but Kyle still wanted to get closer. Stan refused to let their bodies touch, however, probably out of consideration for Kyle's clothes, and damn if that didn't make Kyle want to touch him _more_.

Stan broke the kiss with a gasp, raining still more of them along Kyle's face. "I want you to be my boyfriend. For real. I want to be with you, Kyle, and I'm stupid and I'm sorry, so please—"

"That's very nice, Stanley," Gerald said. "But could you close the door? We have the heat on."

Kyle saw the color drain from Stan's face as he let go of Kyle to see both Gerald and Sheila sitting around the coffee table with Ike, who was shuffling the cards. Stan backed away from Kyle so fast you would think Kyle had some sort of flesh-eating disease.

"Shit," he cursed emphatically. "_Shit_."

Kyle watched with barely restrained amusement as Stan looked at him as though expecting him to come up with some sort of explanation for this. Kyle's cheeks were very red, but, otherwise, he was perfectly calm.

"Date not go well?" he asked flippantly. "Because I came out to my parents. Want some soda?"

"I don't think those three sentences had anything to do with one another," Sheila observed as she cut the deck. "Come in and play cards with us, Stan. You know you're always welcome here."

Kyle closed the front door since Stan seemed a little too bewildered to do it himself and linked their fingers. "I'll explain everything later, but for right now…" he beamed. "I'd fucking love to be your boyfriend."

"Kyle!" Sheila admonished. "Language!"

"The boy's happy, Sheila," Gerald said with a smile. "It's okay just this once."

Stan's hand was warm and sure in his and Kyle smiled up at his boyfriend—his _real_ boyfriend—and thought that he'd never had a better Valentine's day in his life.

x

**Author's Note:** Technically, it's still February, but I totally owe you guys like two chapters next month. And I didn't mean for this to be so long. I actually had to cut stuff to make it shorter! But, look, a happy ending.


	7. March

**RED STRING**  
Author: the pink striper  
Rating: M for language and sexual humor/situations. And Kenny.  
Pairings: Stan/Kyle, Kenny/Butters, Cartman/Wendy, and other minor pairings.  
Summary: Stan Marsh has decided that he wants more out of his super best friendship with Kyle Broflovski. A lot more. What starts as a simple experiment quickly spirals out of control, which, in a town like South Park, is never a good thing. Meanwhile, Kenny McCormick decides that high school is a waste of his time, much to Butters Scotch's horror, and Eric Cartman decides to follow Wendy Testaburger to Harvard. Let the games begin.

x

"_I__'ve seen myself in a thousand faces strung out on life's path. I would add up what you mean to me, but I cannot do the math and this fashionista's garden party, well, I had enough of that. I'm a special lover sometimes, but you only touch a ghost. I'm a sycophantic courtier with an elegant repose and needless to say you're the one that I need the most 'cause the only one I come undone for is you. I know I'm done and now I see the truth. I know I'm done, come undone for you. I'll tell you what you mean to me and maybe then you'll see."  
—__**Come Undone by Vanessa Carlton**_

x

**MARCH**

x

It wasn't that Kyle didn't like studying with Wendy, because he did, but in the weeks leading up to the SAT, he often found himself sitting alone at a table hidden in the back of the library. He didn't know what had happened to her, but Wendy seemed to have lost focus on the test entirely and spent their study sessions either half-heartedly complaining about Cartman, or not saying anything at all. Either way, her distraction was distracting him and the last thing he needed was for Cartman to score higher than him on the damn test _again_. He didn't think he could manage a perfect score, but he could definitely try.

So, yes, maybe he was hiding from his boyfriend's ex-girlfriend, but he didn't have time to help her through whatever neurosis Cartman had drawn out of her this week. And, though he loved a good Cartman slamming session, he didn't have time for that either. After the test, sure.

He was grading what had to be his sixteenth practice test when a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders and he tilted his head back to rest against Stan's shoulders and pressed a kiss to the line of his jaw.

"Seriously?" Stan groaned when he saw what Kyle was working on. "Don't you take a break?"

"What means this word 'break'?" Kyle joked as Stan slid into the seat next to him. He found himself unable to stop smiling now, watching Stan unpack his things out of the corner of his eye and attaching the title 'my boyfriend' to him for no reason other than pure enjoyment. His boyfriend was looking for a pencil. His boyfriend was checking it for lead. His boyfriend was staring at him oddly. Stan Marsh was _his boyfriend_. Kyle was glad he wasn't a giant girl or anything because this would probably have been the moment where he screamed into his pillow.

Stan covered Kyle's hand with his own and smiled warmly. "I'm happy, too."

Kyle blushed, but didn't move his hand. "I forgot that you could read my mind like that."

"Not all the time. Sometimes I have to work at it. You were just being really obvious about your uncontrollable lust for me right there."

"You _wish_ it was uncontrollable."

Stan's gaze fell from Kyle's eyes to his lips, then flicked back up again. "Maybe."

Kyle spared a moment to double check that there was no one—especially the PDA-hating librarian—in the immediate area before scooting his chair closer and meeting Stan's kiss head on. He curled his fingers around Stan's face to keep him from deepening the kiss too much because, uncontrollable lust or not, Kyle was not getting caught grinding against him in the school library. In the last few weeks or, as Kenny called it, the honeymoon stage, he'd noticed a running tendency for himself to lose his ability to think rationality when Stan looked at him or spoke to him or, especially, kissed him. He had ended up in Stan's lap without any memory of climbing there at least three times and there had even been one point where _Stan_ had pulled _Kyle's _hands out of his jeans and reminded him that he'd wanted to wait. That had been a particularly embarrassing moment of weakness, although it had reminded Kyle of why exactly Stan was the best person he'd ever known.

Stan pulled away first, but only to push his chair even closer and flick his tongue out along the curve of Kyle's jaw. Kyle's head tipped back with a sharp exhale, his hands sliding up to rest on Stan's chest and trying not to do anything more than that. It was about that time that his eyes fluttered back open just enough for him to catch sight of the SAT book sticking out of Stan's bag and he immediately shoved Stan off him.

"Oh, I see what you're doing," Kyle breathed, pulling the book out and putting on the table in front of his guilty-looking boyfriend. "Nice try, Marsh, but there's one more practice test left in this one and you're going to do it."

Stan groaned and rested his forehead against the book. "I hate you. I hate you a lot."

"No, you don't," Kyle said.

"No, I don't," Stan agreed.

"Did you finalize your list of colleges, yet? I need to make sure we match."

Kyle waited as Stan sighed and dug through his bag for a wrinkled piece of paper. They had sent their PSAT scores to all the colleges Kyle had chosen because, at the time, Stan still hadn't made up his own mind about what he wanted to do just yet, but the SATs were different. They were _important_. And Stan had ultimately decided last week that he perhaps wanted to become a veterinarian, which had led Kyle to spend the weekend looking up appropriate majors and schools and giving him a print-out to study. From the looks of the print-out Stan handed back to him, however, it was evident that Stan had just stuffed it to the bottom of his bag and forgotten about it until now.

Kyle glared at him.

"I've been busy," Stan insisted. "With you."

"I am not an excuse not to do your work," Kyle countered, though he couldn't help but be flattered. "And the sooner you do your work, the more time we have for," he raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Other stuff."

Stan, who had been slumped in his seat with all the reluctance of an eight year old who didn't want to take a bath, sat up and swept his eyes over Kyle's body. Then he grinned. "I do like other stuff."

A red hue to his cheeks, Kyle tapped his pen against the paper and drew Stan's attention back to that. By the free period was over, they had narrowed the list down to twenty-five colleges, none of which were Ivy League. Stan stretched his arms up over his head, back arching like a cat, his shirt riding up enough to flash a strip of pale white skin which Kyle couldn't resist the urge to cover with his hand.

Stan glanced at him, then at his hand, then at him again. "Oh, am I turning you on?"

"You know exactly what you're doing," Kyle said throatily. "And it's not going to work."

"Kyle," Stan's eyes softened into a deep, deep sapphire blue. "You know I'd never push—"

"I know. And that's why I—why we're together. Why I'm together. With you." Flushing, Kyle grabbed his books and stuffed them into his bag. "I'll be late if I don't—"

Stan took his hand and brought it to his lips in a fairytale kiss that was as corny as it was sweet. "Wanna hang out after school?"

"I can't. I have practice, which I'm already going to be late for because I have to pick Ike up from school—"

"I'll pick up Ike," Stan offered, not quite able to hide his disappointment. "It'll give me an excuse to hang around your house until you get back. And _then_ we can hang out."

"You want to waste an afternoon babysitting my bratty brother?"

"I want to waste the afternoon hanging out with my boyfriend. If I have to babysit his brother to do it, then I will. This is like the nadir of what I'm willing to do for you, Kyle." Stan grinned. "That's an SAT word. See how I did that?

Kyle nodded, not trusting himself to speak anymore. He showed his gratitude by leaning down to peck Stan on the cheek, then did the mature, healthy thing and fled the library. His legs wobbled and he had to hold on to the wall as he made his way down the crowded hallway, wondering if there would ever come a day when he would look at Stan and _not_ want to stay with him forever. Things were going so unbelievably well that Kyle couldn't help but wondering when the other shoe would drop, when Stan would change his mind and break up with him, or cheat on him, or _something_. His life had never been this good. It couldn't last.

Could it?

The one constant in his life had always been Stan. The one person who had always been by his side, supporting him, joking with him, loving him in his own way, was Stan. When Kyle felt like he was completely alone, like everything was hopeless, it was always Stan there breaking him out of it. Stan, offering without hesitation to give up his kidney to save Kyle and stealing Cartman's kidney when the first plan didn't work. Stan, wheeling him out of the hospital to see karma finally catch up with Cartman just when Kyle was ready to let the bumps on his ass take him to the next life. Stan, rescuing him from Blaynetology and Jewliard and the revenge of the Crab People. If there was anything that Kyle could count on, it was that Stan would always be there.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest. He was so fucking in love with Stan that it was pathetic.

He realized with a start that the hallway was empty and he was hugging himself with his back pressed against the wall. He also realized that Butters was standing awkwardly in front of him, concern all over his face.

"K-Kyle, what's the matter?" Butters asked once Kyle focused on him.

An almost maniacal smile tugged at Kyle's lips. "I'm in love, that's what's the problem."

"Oh," Butters nodded as though he understood. "That's a real big problem. But only if you make it one."

Kyle eyed him suspiciously, but there was nothing but the usual naïve openness on Butters' face. That was one of the many reasons Kyle had never really minded hanging out with Butters the way Stan and Cartman had. In a town like this, Butters was taking a risk everyday by just being exactly who he was and some part of Kyle admired that. Butters was a complete and total artard, but an admirable one. And he made a good placeholder for when they couldn't find anyone better to hang out with.

Butters scuffed his shoe against the tile. "It's just—Love's a happy emotion, ain't it? It's supposed to make you happy to be around someone you love. Torturing yourself with it isn't what it's all about. I-It's supposed to make you feel good to be in love, not miserable because the person you love doesn't love you back. That's missing the whole point."

"Like you and Kenny didn't make each other miserable for _years_," Kyle snapped without any heat. He hugged himself a little tighter. "What if he—"

"Do you regret it?" Butters asked cautiously. "Loving Stan?"

"No," Kyle responded immediately. "No, I can't imagine how it's possible not to love him."

"Then what're you sad for?"

And with those words of wisdom, Butters was hobbling down the hallway in a manner that suggested that his weekend in Aspen had been well worth the trip. Kyle wondered where he was going for the briefest of moments before he realized that Butters was clutching a paper bag and was going to skip class to meet Kenny for lunch. He never thought he'd see the day that Butters Scotch would skip class, but he supposed that was what love did to you.

Kyle stopped hugging himself, surprised to find that he was actually feeling better. What _was_ he sad for? He was in love with a guy and his parents were supportive and he was going to college with his best friend and he wasn't an idiot like everyone else in his podunk town. His life was kind of awesome.

Late, but for once not caring, Kyle went to class with a huge smile on his face.

x

"Okay, I admit it. I like Eric Cartman!"

Bebe choked on her black beans, her face turning red from the effort of clearing her windpipe so she could _breathe_. Her eyes immediately darted to Wendy, who was pale as a sheet of paper and whose lips were drawn into a thin line.

"I-I'm sorry. _What_ did you say?" Bebe wheezed, wary of making her repeat it.

Patty Nelson was busy staring at Wendy with all of the fire of a boxer preparing for his next match. "I _said_, 'I like Eric Cartman'. Going with him to the dance was the best thing I've ever been paid to do and," her chin lifted. "If he asked me out, I wouldn't say no."

Bebe chanced a look at Wendy again. There was a snapped pencil in her hand. She seemed poised to grind it into pulp.

"Oh," Bebe continued with a long sip of her juice. "That's—oh."

She reached over with her free hand and pried Wendy's fingers apart, allowing the little pieces of wood to fall onto the table. Patty Nelson started to look a bit pale herself, but it was obvious from the set of her jaw that she was not about to retract her statement any time soon. Bebe wished the other girls hadn't picked up their trays and left when Patty Nelson had sat down; she was certain that the right amount of peer pressure would get Patty Nelson to take back her claim on Cartman and, thereby, extend her life span.

"So, you…." Bebe sighed, already opening her bag. "Want me to put you on the list?"

"Yes, please."

Although the council of girls had been forcibly disbanded due to a certain corrupt list and a certain attempt to gun down Wendy, Stan, and possibly Kyle, there was still one list that Bebe was in charge of keeping even all these years. The list contained the names of all the boys in the class as well as all the girls they were dating or who wanted to date them. It had been officially formed after a dispute between Esther and Sally over who got to date Bridon Guermo one week had nearly come to blows. If a girl liked an available (or even unavailable boy) and planned to pursue them, Bebe was informed and would put their names on the list, which gave them priority over any of the other girls who planned to do the same. If a boy liked a girl, Bebe was also usually informed as that, obviously, caused a shift in priority. And if a girl wanted her name removed from the list or placed under a different boy, they started at base one all over again. It was a pretty efficient system, if Bebe did say so herself.

This, however, was problematic. This… would not end well.

She placed the list on the table, found CARTMAN, ERIC, and picked up a pen to pencil Patty Nelson in between Lizzy and Heidi. Heidi had only admitted a slight attraction on her part while Lizzy had been throwing herself at Cartman—and, to be fair, every other guy in class—since she first discovered sex. Wendy's name wasn't on the list at all.

"Alright, you're in," Bebe said uncomfortably, folding the list and putting it back in your bag. "You have to tell Lizzy what you're doing, though, because she's got legal priority over you and she's a notorious cockblocker."

"She's not the only one," Patty Nelson said with another dirty look in Wendy's direction. Then, she wisely picked up her things and flounced off.

Bebe watched her go before turning to look at Wendy for the third time. She had gone from pale to absolutely livid to… well, Bebe wasn't sure what kind of expression Wendy was sporting, but it was troubling.

"I had to put her on," Bebe said just in case Wendy was suppressing rage toward her, too. "You're the one who taught me not to be corrupt with the lists and—"

"I _have_ a boyfriend," Wendy snarled. She then cleared her throat and made her tone a little less hostile. "I mean, I…"

"Speaking of boyfriends…" Bebe placed a hand on Wendy's shoulder and jabbed a finger in the direction of the table where Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Butters were sitting with a few of the other boys. Kyle was enjoying a fruit cup and the works of George Eliot from the comfort of Stan's lap. A trickle of juice escaped his mouth and Stan wasted no time in licking it off, much to the disgust of at least one other member of the table. "I guess I'm glad _someone_ around here is in a healthy, functioning relationship—"

"Patty Nelson is such a _slut_," Wendy interrupted, sounding hostile all over again. Bebe was kind of glad Patty Nelson was gone because Wendy was now holding a fork and she would have hated to get blood all over her fuzzy sweater. "Does she even realize what she's doing? Because I don't think she does."

Bebe realized what Wendy was doing, but she didn't think she wanted that pointed out to her while she was still holding a pointed object. "I could start telling people she gave Eric Cartman a BJ at the Valentine's day dance. I could have that all over school by next period."

"That's not good enough," Wendy was silent for a moment, eyes clouded with thought. It was the scariest thing Bebe had ever seen. Then, Wendy began to smile and Bebe reevaluated her opinion. _That_ was the scariest thing she'd ever seen. "I know what to do. You don't even need to get involved. I'll take care of it."

"Wendy," Bebe felt the need to remind her. "You have a boyfriend."

"And you're a natural blond. What's your point?"

"My _point_ is… don't you think that maybe Token deserves a little better than how you're treating him? I mean, he's a nice guy and he really likes you."

Wendy stared at her. Honestly, Bebe had no idea why she even bothered.

"Nevermind. Do what you want."

"Your concern is noted and appreciated." Wendy gathered her things and left the lunch table, walking in a brisk pace over to Kyle's table. Token was sitting there, watching Cartman eat his weight in tater tots and exchanging bets with Clyde on, Bebe assumed, how long it would take the fatass to throw it all back up again. He perked up when Wendy approached, even more so when she kissed him in a way that was completely disproportionate to the conversation she'd just been having, then swept out of the cafeteria in a flurry of black and purple. Token stared after her, dumbstruck but in no way displeased. The poor bastard.

Bebe felt bad enough for him that when he glanced up to see her looking at him and smiled, she smiled right back. Poor, poor bastard.

x

Kyle had caught up with Stan around eighth period. Stan hadn't even gotten the chance to say hi before Kyle had shoved him up against a locker and shoved his tongue down Stan's throat.

Not that Stan had minded in the slightest. He'd gotten used to Kyle fleeing from potentially emotional moments like a scared little girl fleeing from the Ouji board at a slumber party, mostly because Kyle usually came back slightly apologetic and twice as affectionate as he was before he'd run away. It was a defense mechanism, though why Kyle thought he needed to defend himself from Stan was a little beyond Stan's ability to comprehend. He didn't mind working his way past Kyle's walls. He'd been doing it since they were kids. Besides, the flush to Kyle's cheeks and the shy little smile on his face as he'd pulled back had done wonders to remind Stan why it was all worth it. He would have volunteered to pick Ike up every day of the week if it got Kyle to smile like that.

He was reflecting on it as he pulled into the parking lot of South Park Middle School. He'd left as soon as his free period had started, figuring he'd avoid the post-school traffic block and sleep in the car while he waited for Ike's class to let out. Being at the middle school brought back memories.

There was a tree with a tire swing on the other side of the lot, both of which were wrapped with caution tape. Cartman and Kyle had discovered a parallel universe in there in which they all had super powers and Cartman had of course used that to his advantage to a) kill Kyle and b) take over the world Lex Luthor style. It had taken Stan, Kyle, Kenny, _and_ Butters to stop the real Cartman from trapping them all in there and assassinating his other self so he could have the pleasure of killing Kyle all over again. Hopefully, the caution tape had done its job and no one else had fallen into that bizarre world.

Stan caught a glimpse of motion and squinted at the tree, noticing for the first time that there was a kid on the other side of it. He saw a black sleeve and a flash of black hair, but he couldn't see much else without hurting his neck. He squinted a little more, saw a little thread of smoke winding into the sky, and smiled in recognition. It was Georgie, the youngest of the Goth kids, sneaking a smoke outside. Stan had no idea what he was doing at South Park Middle School instead of out behind the high school with the rest of his nonconformist elementary school dropout friends, though. If he wasn't careful, he'd get spotted by a teacher and actually be forced to go to class.

He turned off the car and got out, sticking his hands in his pocket and slouching as he wandered over. He hadn't hung out with the Goth kids in years, but he knew he could probably get a couple of words out of Georgie because he was slouching and happened to be wearing a black shirt.

He slowed as he approached the tree. He could hear voices, one belonging to Georgie and the other belonging to someone who definitely didn't belong behind a tree with a Goth kid when he was supposed to be in class.

"—cancer. There have been studies to prove it. And, even if there hadn't, the surgeon general even says it on the package," Ike Broflovski was saying in an overly intelligent voice. It was the same tone that Kyle used when he was trying to avoid a topic by applying cold, hard science. "You're going to die."

"Only conformists read the surgeon general's warning, Broflovski," Georgie responded predictably. "I've been smoking since I was in Kindergarten. If I haven't died by now, I don't think I have to worry for a few more years."

"But—"

"If you want a drag, you could just ask for it."

There was a long pause followed by a sharp inhale followed by Ike coughing and wheezing. He heard Georgie chuckle.

"You don't need to impress me, Broflovski. I'm not your parents or your teachers or the faceless mass of sheep that shuffle hopelessly from place to place, never questioning the iron grip that society has got them locked in while they—"

The sudden silence made Stan nervous. Hell, the whole situation was making Stan nervous. He hesitantly stepped closer, stepping carefully around the tire swing until he could see the two seventh graders. The two seventh graders who were _making out_.

"Holy shit!" he shouted, blowing his cover. Ike yanked back so fast that he banged his head against the tree and Georgie dropped his cigarette then stomped it out before it could set the grass on fire.

"Stan!" Ike cried, clutching his head. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"What the fuck are _you_ doing? Here? With him?" Stan gestured wildly. "Kissing!"

"I—" Ike's cheeks reddened. "We were just hanging out. It's not even anything—"

"Relationships are conformist," Georgie said as he lit a new cigarette. "I prefer my sexual entanglements to be tantric, if not outright deviant. Currently, I'm experimenting with polyfidelity and—"

Stan gaped at Ike, who turned even redder. "I hadn't agreed to that yet."

"_Yet_? Does Kyle know about that you're _skipping class_ to have _tantric sex_ with Goth kids behind trees in the parking lot?"

"We're not having sex! We're not _doing_ anything!"

"Sorry, Broflovski, but I'm not really into the whole 'meet the pseudo parents' thing. I'm going back to the high school." Georgie looked at Stan and shook his head. "I used to think you were cool, Raven, but mainstream society always gets them in the end. Later."

Stan and Ike watched him stalk off, the former stunned and the latter wistful. Stan noticed the longing on Ike's face and returned to gaping at him. Maybe if he stared long enough, his retinas would reset themselves and he could forget the horrible, horrible sight of his best friend's little brother making out with Georgie behind a tree.

"Are—Are you even going to _try _and explain yourself or are you going to spend the car ride home begging me not to tell Kyle?"

Ike was silent for the second it took him to regain the defensiveness that ran in the family. Then he had the balls to actually _glare_ at Stan. "I already told Kyle I was bi-curious so you can tell him whatever you want. Be sure to tell him you're a total cockblocker, too! What are you even _doing_ here?"

"I'm doing my boyfriend a favor and picking his brother up from school! Apparently, I'm also saving his ass virginity in the process!" Stan snapped back. Ike wasn't Kyle. He didn't have to be nice to Ike. "You're a fucking genius and you can't figure out that boys who want to make out with you behind trees during school hours aren't the type of boys you want to date?"

"Kenny makes out with plenty of boys behind trees during school hours and he seems to be doing just fine with his boyfriend!"

"That's because Butters is a total pussy who probably wouldn't say anything even if Kenny _was_ still making out with other boys behind trees during school hours! And, anyway, there's a huge difference between someone like Georgie and someone like Kenny! Kenny loves sex because he loves making other people feel good; Georgie just wants to get his rocks off!"

"I fucking _know_ that," Ike screamed in frustration. "But even if Kenny _was_ single, I am, as he keeps reminding me, total jailbait and he wouldn't touch me anyway!"

"Yeah, well—wait, what?" Stan blinked as Ike's cheeks reddened all over again. Then his eyes widened in realization. "Dude! You—You like Kenny?"

Ike averted his gaze. "I… I like a lot of people."

"Dude."

"Okay, so I like Kenny more than most people." Ike covered his face with his hands. "Please don't tell Kyle. God, don't tell _anyone_."

"_Dude_."

"Could you _please_ say something else?"

Stan grappled for a moment, but the only thing he could come up with was, "Oh my god."

Ike sighed. "Well, I'm not going back inside. How about you just take me home where I can lie on my back on the floor of my room with the lights off and the stereo playing every emo song known to man?"

"Don't you," Stan cleared his throat. "Don't you need your backpack and stuff?"

"Fillmore will bring them when he comes by later. Let's just get out of here."

"Right. Um. Okay."

The walk back to the car was uncomfortably silent. Stan knew he should say something to make Ike stop looking so miserable, but he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the impossible idea of Ike and Kenny. He couldn't comfort Ike because Kenny was so in love with Butters it was almost ridiculous and _probably_ had the good sense not to go messing around with underage boys anyway. He couldn't even offer any advice because he hadn't even known that Kenny and Ike hung out often enough for Ike to have become so attached.

And if Kyle ever found out… well, that'd just be a clusterfuck right there. Because Kyle would tell his mother, who would complain to the principal that some kid was leading her son to skip class and then, once she realized the Goth kids never went to class, would start petitioning for more stringent truancy laws. Or, Kyle would cut out the middleman and tell the principal himself. Either way, Ike would be screwed (and not in the way he wanted) and the Goth kids would put Stan on their shit list for forcing them to go back to school or risk being arrested.

Stan snuck a peek at Ike and was surprised to find the boy already staring at him.

"Look, you don't have to worry about me," Ike insisted, pausing in front of the passenger side door. "It's just a stupid crush that I'll get over. And I'm not jealous of Butters or anything because Kenny's my friend and I want him to be happy. I'm just fooling around until I figure out what I like. If that turns out to be boys, well," his lips quirked into a smile. "Hopefully, I'll find a guy who will love me as much as you and Kyle love each other."

"Hopefully," Stan agreed without thinking and it wasn't until Ike had already gotten into the car that his brain caught up with him. "Wait, what?"

x

Kenny should have been tipped off when Butters came straight into the garage instead of waiting by the door until he happened to slide out from under a car and notice him. Butters never interrupted him at work no matter how important he was. In fact, he was pretty sure that Butters would probably bleed to death by the door rather than bother Kenny for some bandages. So that should have been his first clue.

His next clue should have been when Butters actually agreed to making out in the backseat of the car Kenny was fixing up. Butters was always afraid they'd get caught or that the people would come and pick up their car and smell all the semen and, also, Jesus was watching. That should have been his second clue. But Kenny was so damn happy to see Butters and he had a boner the size of Texas so it caught him completely off-guard when Butters pulled back from sucking his neck to say, "I'ah think you should try and get your GED."

"GED?" Kenny asked, blinking through the sexual haze to try and make sense of this sudden lack of physicality. "That some new brand of lube you want to try?"

"No, it's a test," Butters straddled him, brushing his fingers distractingly across the fabric of Kenny's wife beater, an adorable flush to his cheeks. Kenny tried to surge up to kiss him, but Butters just pushed him back down. "The General Educational Development test. It's five tests you take to get your high school diploma without actually having to go back to school."

"Excuse me?"

"I'll even help you study and everything!" Butters sounded way too excited for someone who was talking complete and total nonsense. "And even if you don't pass the first time, you can take it three times a year and—"

"No." Kenny pulled Butters' hands off his chest and then sat up until Butters was straddling his lap and staring up at him with a hurt expression. "I'm not doing that."

Butters began to pout. "Well, why not?"

"Why _should_ I?"

"Because… because you gotta get your diploma, Kenny! You can't just—"

"I can do whatever I want." The mood had been completely killed by the conversation. Kenny shifted until his back was against the car door and Butters took the hint, crawling out of his lap and sitting on the other side of the seat, clenching and unclenching his fists. Kenny was dying for a cigarette. "I have a paying job that I didn't need a fucking high school diploma to get, Butters. I don't need to waste my time taking some equivalency test."

"It ain't a waste of time! It's your whole future!"

"My _future_ is a carburetor and an oil change and, if I'm lucky, my own garage. A high school diploma has nothing to do with that."

Kenny could tell he was annoying Butters with his refusal, but he wasn't going to apologize. He had already accepted that he didn't belong at South Park High School anymore. He had already accepted that he was never going to college. He had already accepted that, in all likelihood, he was going to be working in a garage for the rest of his natural life. All of those things were pretty much givens, so why was Butters trying to push this diploma thing? What was Kenny supposed to do with a fucking diploma? Frame it and wish he wasn't a poor washout from a town in the middle of nowhere?

"If it doesn't matter whether you have it or not, just get it!" Butters insisted, punching Kenny in the leg with a glare. "All you gotta do is study and I'll help you with that! It's not a big deal."

"If it's not a big deal, then why are you making it one?" Kenny shot back. "Why's this so important to you?"

"Because I'ah care about you and you can't get anywhere in life without at least a high school diploma!"

Kenny's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying I'm not getting anywhere being a mechanic?"

"No, I-I'm not—" Butters began, but Kenny was already opening the door and climbing out of the car. He stuck his head back in and jabbed a finger toward the exit.

"I need to fix this. Show yourself out."

Slamming the door behind him gave him a little bit of pleasure, but he headed out back to have a smoke instead of hanging around to watch Butters leave anyway. If he looked at Butters now, the anger twisting in his gut would melt away too quickly for comfort and he'd end up promising Butters anything if it got him to smile again. And Kenny _refused_ to take that test.

There was already a couple of guys outside when Kenny got there. He bummed a cigarette off of them and lit up, fingers shaking until the sweet, sweet nicotine calmed him down. He hadn't even been outside for a minute yet and he already felt like he'd overreacted. He just hated making Butters upset…

Kenny squared his shoulders, took a long drag from his cigarette, and stubbed it out under his foot. He was not taking the GED, whether it upset Butters or not. He had work to do.

x

On the morning of the SATs, Stan was cramming last minute information into his head. Or, more appropriately, Kyle was cramming last minute information into Stan's head. He clutched at Kyle's belt loops, mouth open to pant as Kyle nibbled along his jawline and whispered, "Define imbroglio."

The hot rush of air against his face had Stan whimpered, but he still managed to stammer out, "A misunderstanding resulting in ill-feeling, strife, or perplexity." He had to, because if he got an answer wrong, then Kyle would stop touching him and if Kyle stopped touching him, his balls would drop off from the sexual frustration.

Kyle caught his lips in a messy kiss, more tongues than lips, warm hands cupping Stan's face and stroking his cheeks. He slid his hands around to Kyle's ass and squeeze, gasping as their crotches brushed together and biting the skin of Kyle's neck. Kyle moaned so loudly the whole house had to have heard it, then shoved Stan back on the bed and attacked his mouth enthusiastically. Stan lost himself in Kyle's hands and mouth and body until his phone began to chime, reminding them both that they would be late for their test if they didn't leave right the fuck now.

Stan kissed Kyle slowly. "We have to go."

"Mmm," Kyle responded, returning the kiss. "Okay."

"Seriously," Stan repeated, tilting his head for a better angle. "We should really—"

"Yeah," Kyle slid his hands down Stan's body and under his shirt. "Sure."

"Dude," Stan lost his train of thought when Kyle slid his way up Stan's body until he was straddling his chest. "Um."

"We have to go," Kyle reminded him, kissing Stan one last time before getting up and holding out a hand to help Stan up as well. "Do you have enough number two pencils?"

Stan wasn't sure whether he wanted to strangle Kyle before or after he pulled him back down and molested him a little more. He decided on neither, accepting the help and adjusting his clothes so as not to give Ike any more reason to tease the two of them about the pornographic connotation they'd given to the word "sleepover". They spent a few minutes checking and double checking their supply of number two pencils and calculator batteries, then headed downstairs.

One slightly awkward breakfast (Stan wasn't sure he'd ever get used to Kyle's parents knowing exactly what he was doing with and to their son and just not caring) and a car ride later, Stan was kissing Kyle goodbye before they went to their separate classrooms for the test. Stan glimpsed Cartman in the classroom Kyle had gone into and sent up a little prayer on Kyle's behalf, hoping Cartman wouldn't try and do something stupid, like sabotage Kyle's grade. He settled down in his chair and stared out the window, trying not to get nervous. Sure, the SATs were pretty much the most important test he'd ever taken in his life, but that was no reason to panic. If he failed them, he could just take them again and still have time to apply to the same colleges as Kyle…

Stan felt his palms begin to sweat and clutched his pencil a little tighter. Kyle had told him that he would do fine and Kyle was practically always right. A small smile crossed his face as he thought of what else Kyle had said.

"_And, think of it this way. If you get a good grade on your SATs…" Kyle's eyes went dark with sinful intent. "I'll blow you."_

_Stan, who had been in the middle of a practice test at the time, nearly choked on his own spit. "Really?"_

_Kyle smirked. "Well," he lowered his gaze to Stan's crotch, then slowly dragged it back up. The smirk widened. "Why don't you ace your test and find out?"_

Stan had to think of Mrs. Broflovski naked in order to keep himself from physically reacting to that memory. God, Kyle was so… and he was _so_… and this whole situation was just… Wow.

The proctor began handing out papers and Stan carefully filled in the appropriate bubbles, his mind drifting to Kyle yet again.

_Kyle had fallen asleep on him in the middle of watching TV and Stan was lying on his back on the couch, his arms wrapped around Kyle's waist, his chin resting on Kyle's head. It was the warmest and happiest he'd ever felt in his life._

"_Stop staring at me, you creep," Kyle murmured, opening his eyes and drowning Stan in their drowsy depths. Then, he smiled. "Or continue. I don't care."_

_Stan could feel something heavy and thick in his chest, something good, magnificent even. And layered over that was the intense urge to kiss Kyle. Which he did. Thoroughly._

_Kyle laughed softly when he drew away. "I like you."_

"_I like you more."_

"_Oh, are we one of those couples now?"_

"_Fuck no," Stan wrinkled his nose. "I do like you more, though."_

"_Somehow I really doubt that, but whatever." Kyle cuddled up close. "As far as I'm concerned, this conversation never happened."_

"_Agreed."_

Stan chuckled softly to himself, his previous nervousness completely forgotten. He hoped that Kyle's test break lined up with his. They may not have been able to discuss the test, but Kyle would probably get a kick out of hearing what his motivation to pass happened to be.

x

Bebe found Butters sitting forlornly at the bus stop after the SAT had been administered. She didn't have to think very hard to guess that Kenny had had a lot (if not everything) to do with the depressed look on Butters' face, but she figured she should probably talk to Butters before she went to go and hunt down Kenny for screwing up the best thing he had going for him. She approached Butters slowly, sitting down next to him on the bench.

"So," she began, thinking of the most tactful way to phrase her question, then throwing caution to the wind. "What'd that fucker do now?"

"Huh?" Butters perked up a bit when he noticed her, but not by much. "Kenny didn't do nothing. I'ah was just pushing him and he got mad at me, but I'll just go an' apologize and it'll be fine. I'ah just—"

"Oh, please, Butters. I have a hard time believing that whatever argument you and Kenny had was _your_ fault."

Butters began mashing his knuckles together. "I'ah was just bugging him about getting his high school diploma and I'ah made him sore at me."

Bebe rolled her eyes. Honestly, Kenny was such an idiot sometimes that it amazed even her. "It's not your fault Kenny's too damn stubborn to acknowledge that he has potential. I'm just sorry you have to put up with him."

"K-Kenny's the best guy I know," Butters said, coming to his boyfriend's defense with a loyalty that was touching. "He's real smart and funny and he takes real good care of me and Sunday and he can fix practically anything and—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Bebe waved a hand dismissively. "You're in love and Kenny craps gold bricks. Give him a couple of days to cool off and then talk to him again. Sometimes, he just needs a few days to realize he's wrong. Which he is."

Butters bit his lip nervously, but nodded. Then, he glanced at her. "What about you, Bebe?"

"What about me?"

"How come y-you're not talking about _your_ idiot boyfriend? You're not still single, are you?"

Bebe could feel her hackles trying to rise and pushed it down. Butters was an innocent. He didn't mean to offend her and she couldn't take her frustrations out on him. She couldn't tell him anything, either. Butters could keep a secret better than anyone, but he also found it a little hard to comprehend complex things like manipulation and betrayal. Still, she decided to throw him a bone.

"Let's just say that my love life is the last thing I've got to worry about with so much shit happening around me," Bebe said with a sigh. "I just wish some people would get their heads out of their asses and stop being complete and total bitches!"

Butters blinked. "Are you and Wendy having another fight?"

"Not exactly. I'm just… I'm afraid she's going to do something monumentally stupid and get hurt and I'm trying to keep her from screwing herself but she just won't listen to me! No one ever does!"

"Maybe you oughta give her a few days to realize she's wrong?" Butters suggested, smiling.

Bebe smiled back. "Yeah, maybe. But you know Wendy. Even when she's wrong, she'll still act like she's right to save face."

"Y-You could try getting Token to talk to her. He's her boyfriend, ain't he? He might have some kind of sway with her."

That was the whole problem, Bebe thought even as she nodded. Besides, Wendy was about as likely to listen to Token as Cartman was to join the priesthood out of the goodness of his heart.

The bus arrived. Butters got to his feet and gave Bebe one last smile. "Well, th-thanks for the advice, Bebe. I really appreciate it."

"You hold on to your man, Scotch. Kenny's lucky to have someone like you loving him this much. You tell him to stop being a dick to you!"

"I'm the lucky one," Butters insisted, smiling going from friendly to fond. "But I'll, ah, pass on your message."

"You better."

Bebe waited until the bus was out of sight, then looked back at the parking lot of the school to see if there was anyone she could beg for a ride. Wendy had already left and Bebe had been planning to walk back home, but Stan, Kyle, Token, and Clyde were still lingering and Bebe was still attractive. She trudged back to the parking lot, ignoring the first two entirely and grinning radiantly at Token and Clyde.

"Which one of you wants to be awesome and drive me home?"

Clyde looked at Token.

Token looked at Clyde.

Bebe tucked a blond curl behind her ear and grinned even more radiantly.

"I'll do it?" Token said at last. "But I'm dropping you off at the first bus stop we come to if you try to change my radio station to that 24-hour pop shit you and Wendy are always listening to."

Clyde sniggered. "Dude, you are so fucking whipped."

"Shut the fuck up, dude."

Bebe ignored them both and went to wait by the Bentley, wishing she'd just caught a ride home with Wendy. Or suffered through watching Stan and Kyle make eyes at one another and hitched a ride with them. Or gotten on the bus with Butters. Or… well, she was about to climb into a Bentley. Why was she even complaining?

Token joined her in a moment, holding her door open for her before getting in himself. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Wendy, too. Do you—"

Bebe changed the radio station and turned it up as loud as she could stand. Token took the hint and the rest of the car ride was passed in silence.

x

Eric Cartman wasn't exactly surprised when Wendy Testaburger sought him out Monday morning. The hippie bitch had been having full-on eyesex with him practically every day since the dance and Cartman was enjoying every second of it. There weren't very many men who could brag that Wendy Testaburger was like putty in their hands and, okay, Cartman couldn't brag that either, but she totally wanted him. _Bad_. Maybe even as bad as he wanted her. Hopefully, there was some hate sex in his future, but he would settle for what he could get. For now.

"Ho," he greeted pleasantly when she found him smoking behind the school and sat down next to him. "To what do I owe the nightmare of your presence?"

"I need a favor," Wendy said primly, sitting with her back straight and her entire body as far away from him as she could get it. "You _are_ the master of complex schemes, after all."

Cartman raised an eyebrow. "You want me to help you destroy someone? Is it Kyle? Please say it's Kyle?"

"It's not Kyle," Wendy snapped. Then, all the heat drained out of her voice and she just looked grim. "I want Patty Nelson completely and utterly ruined. Bonus points if she transfers schools. Or moves."

"Getting rid of the competition, eh?"

"There _is_ no competition, fatass," When they locked eyes, Wendy's were bright with something very promising. "Can you help me or not?"

Cartman might have kissed her then, but he managed to rein the urge in. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, watching the smoke from his cigarette disintegrate into the air, then shrugged. "Nah."

"What?" Wendy sounded as though she didn't know whether to be shocked or pissed off. "Why not?"

"A little competition is healthy, bitch," Cartman said as he got to his feet. "You'll be learning _that_ lesson soon enough."

"What does that even _mean_?"

Cartman looked down at Wendy, sitting with her legs folded under her, her dark hair covered by a pink beret, her blue eyes wide, and her lips a dull pink. His hands itched to touch her, but, again, he reined it in and began to leave, lifting one hand in a wave.

"Good luck with Patty Nelson. She's a feisty one."

"Cartman!"

He paused, raising an eyebrow at her. Wendy had gotten to her feet and was staring at him, vulnerable and hurt.

"I thought—" The look disappeared, replaced by indignation. "You're such a fucking asshole, Cartman!"

"And you're a fucking bitch," Cartman said pleasantly. "We're a perfect match."

Wendy's cheeks went red. "Why are you _doing_ this to me?"

There were a multitude of ways that Cartman could have answered that question. He could have told her that he loved her so much that he hated her, or hated her so much that he loved her, and could never decide which emotion was more dominant at any given time. He could have told her that he'd been watching her run around with that black asshole Token since _last year_ and he was sick of chasing her and getting shot down. He could have told her it was revenge, it was a game, it was just to annoy the crap out of her. He could have told her that he wanted her almost as bad as he wanted to break her. He could have told her that he wanted to protect her from the world and himself almost as much as he wanted to shove her out into the wild and see if she could handle herself.

Instead he shrugged again and said, "I fucking hate you, that's why."

"No, you _don't_," Wendy took a step forward, hesitant but determined. An odd combination. "You don't hate me, Cartman. Just like I don't hate you. We're just—it's just habit. You insult me and I insult you and I get mad and you—it's a fucking routine, it's not even—things aren't like that between us anymore."

"And what are things like between us exactly?" Cartman asked, intrigued despite himself. "'Cause I'm pretty sure there's a mutual hatred thing going on."

"No, it's different," Wendy stepped forward again, darting a quick glance around to make sure they were alone. "I'm different. The way I look at you is… different. I look at you and I see… I see…" she averted her gaze, but didn't stop closing the distance between them. "I see someone I might… someone I might have more in common with than I ever realized."

Cartman let her get close enough for him to touch, then stuck his hands in his pockets. "That sounds like an open letter to Dr. Phil."

"Oh, shut up, Cartman," and then she was reaching up, her fingers hovering centimeters away from his face. "I know you don't hate me. I _know_ you're looking at me differently. Why don't you just say how you're feeling?"

He felt himself tremble just a little bit and the mere fact that he was even considering it had all warning signs flashing.

"Because I have a dick, that's why," Cartman stepped away from her and turned. "I'm not fucking helping you with Patty Nelson. Stop whoring yourself around behind your boyfriend's back and leave me the fuck alone."

"Cartman!"

"Fuck you, hippie!"

This time, he didn't stop walking until he was safely inside and away from the Wendy Effect. He half expected to turn around and discover that she'd followed him, but of course she hadn't. Because, in the end, Wendy would do the Right Thing and go back to her boyfriend and wash the stench of deceit and Cartman off her. In the end, Wendy was corrupted, but she was not corruptible. Cartman couldn't touch her enough to pull her off her pedestal and she would never stoop to his level for long.

Patty Nelson passed him in the hallway, making eye contact and smiling as she did. Cartman had to smirk. But maybe a little competition was exactly what they both needed to work out a resolution. If not, there was always plan b.

x

Ike was having some kind of Jeopardy marathon with his nerdy friend Fillmore and a couple of their other classmates, an event that had taken up the entire lower floor of the Broflovski house. Kyle hadn't been able to stand an hour of it before he was out the door, screaming that he'd be at Stan's for the rest of the night and no one was to call him for any reason whatsoever.

He was greeted at the door by Randy Marsh, who was eyeing him with something like resignation. "Kyle."

"Hi, Mr. Marsh," Kyle said uncomfortably. "Is Stan here?"

"I think he said something about going to McCormick's." Randy leaned against the door and looked Kyle up and down. "Eh. He could have done worse."

"I—I don't know what you're talking about, sir," Kyle had already started backing away. "I'm just going to go find Stan."

"Yeah, I'll bet you are."

Kyle wasn't exactly running or anything, but he was walking a lot quicker than he really had to. If there was a single conversation he never, ever wanted to have with Stan's father, the I'm-having-carnal-relations-with-your-son would be tops on the list. Luckily for him, years of playing basketball made the long walk to Kenny's less of a hassle than it needed to be. He didn't need to worry about getting jumped in Kenny's neighborhood because he was so scrawny and pale, people naturally assumed he was broke as hell. It worked well for him.

The door was open when he arrived, mostly because Mr. McCormick was passed out drunk in the doorway. Kyle stepped over him and made his way to Kenny's bedroom without bothering to knock. Stan lying on the bed in some kind of complicated tangle with Kenny, who was tracing Stan's belly button with his index finger. Neither one of them glanced up when he came in.

"I'm so glad you two aren't fucking, because otherwise, this would be a little insulting," Kyle said as he pushed the door shut behind him and took off his shoes. He didn't have to, because Kenny was still wearing his and he was liable to get tetanus walking around barefoot, but he just couldn't stand being in bed with his shoes on.

He climbed into bed and plastered himself on the other side of Stan, one hand resting on top of Kenny's head, the other underneath him. Stan immediately tilted his head in Kyle's direction to greet him with a kiss.

"This would be so hot if we were all naked," Kenny informed them helpfully. "Just a suggestion."

Kyle raised an eyebrow at Stan. "He and Butters on the outs?"

"Sort of," Stan replied. "Kenny's being a dick and Butters is giving him space."

Kenny sat up, giving Kyle more room to snuggle with his boyfriend, and ran his fingers through his messy blond hair. "I'm not being a dick. If I don't want to get my GED, I shouldn't have to. And Butters isn't giving me space. He was just here twenty minutes ago to take Sunday for a walk."

"You guys didn't touch each other and he was in such a hurry to leave that he stepped on your dad," Stan said, tracing the curve of Kyle's spine. Kyle sighed, content. "If that's not giving you space, I don't know what is."

"Wait," Kyle interrupted. "Butters wants you to get your GED? Dude, that's an awesome idea. You're not coming back to school next year anyway. What's the problem?"

Kenny scowled. "The _problem_ is I don't need a high school diploma to work in the garage. Why should I waste my time studying and my parents' money paying the exam fee and go through all that just to take some stupid test that'll take a whole one or two days to finish?"

"Because if you get fired from the garage or, god forbid, decide you want more out of life than a spark plug, then you'll have the GED and won't have to worry about being forced to go back to school just to get qualified!" Kyle raised an eyebrow. "Obviously."

Kenny looked away.

Stan pulled Kyle closer and then pushed them both up into a sitting position. Kyle shifted so that he was sitting next to Stan with his head on Stan's shoulder, unable to keep from touching Stan even with Kenny in the room. All the pressure that had seemed to be building on him since the beginning of the year seemed so insignificant now that he'd taken the SAT. Now, he just wanted to relax and enjoy the time he had with his boyfriend. He didn't particularly care if Kenny was there or not just as long as he was spending the time with Stan.

"Look, dude," Stan said in that rational voice that tended to make the people around him stop and listen. The same voice that kind of turned Kyle on a little. He was a sucker for logic. "What it basically boils down to is this. If you don't think you can accomplish anything greater than fixing a car, then that's all you. But Butters wants you to at least keep your options open. Getting your GED is the best way to do that. I mean, unless you want to actually come back to school—which I wouldn't recommend after all the trouble you went through to drop out."

"And," Kyle continued, picking up where Stan had left off. "You need to prepare for every eventuality. What if your boss at the garage discovers how old you are? What if you get fired or laid-off? What if you need to get a second job? A high school diploma is the minimum requirement for even the bottom of the barrel jobs, Kenny. You'll save yourself a lot of grief if you just take the tests."

"Plus," Stan finished. "You and Butters can go back to fucking all over the place and blinding people. The two of you are much happier and more bearable that way."

Kenny didn't move or speak for such a long time Kyle began to wonder whether or not he had heard them. Then, slowly, he got to his feet.

"I'm going to go and talk to Butters…" he murmured, grabbing his parka from off his three-legged chair. He turned to them first and smiled. "Thanks, guys."

"Hey, dude, no problem." Stan turned his attention to Kyle in a way that made Kyle feel very, very happy. "We're going to make use of your bed while you're gone. Hope you don't mind."

"Just try not to get any stains anywhere. I just did the laundry for the first time in five months this morning."

And with those disgusting parting words, Kenny was gone. Kyle didn't have too much time to think about that, though, because he was suddenly on his back with Stan between his legs, kissing him. Kyle kissed him back, dizzy from the unexpected passion, body arching upward as Stan's hand unexpectedly brushed the bulge in his jeans. Kyle squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to lose his head, but the touch was not an accident. A second later, it happened again, more firmly this time, intense pleasure sparking throughout his body and his lungs squeezing painfully in his chest in a desperate bid for air.

"St-Stan?" Kyle managed around his gasps. "Wh-What?"

Stan's hand paused then relocated to Kyle's thigh, still uncomfortably close to Kyle's dick. Stan then kissed his cheek before pulling back just enough to whisper, "Sorry. I couldn't help it. I just—It's really hard to _not_ touch you sometimes. And you—" he smiled wryly. "You're really fucking sexy, Kyle."

"Okay," Kyle tried to think about unsexy things. "That's—Okay." He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from begging Stan to touch him again. "It felt… really good."

Stan buried his head against Kyle's neck and whispered something else.

"What?"

"I said," Stan was giving him that look again. "I really hope I aced the SATs."

Kyle's cheeks flushed at the reminder. "I—I hope you do, too. Because. College."

"That, too," Stan grinned flippantly and Kyle forgot all about his embarrassment in his haste to kiss that smug look off Stan's stupid face.

By the time Kenny and Butters returned to the McCormick house, Kyle had enough hickeys to open a museum on his neck and Stan had lost his shirt somewhere in the mess that made up Kenny's floor. But at least they hadn't stained the bed.

x

**Author's Note:** Forty-page chapters can't cut it all the time so this one is about half that! I really hope you enjoyed it, though, because they break up in May. Ike's going to be heartbroken for a while. You can expect the April chapter on April 26th. And two of the characters in this chapter have been carrying on a secret off-screen relationship since December. The first person to guess which two gets the pleasure of finding out before anyone else which one of these statements is your April Fools' Day joke! Ready… go!


	8. April

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay. My computer crashed and I had to retype this entire chapter. I made it extra long to make up for it! A lot of you were accurate in guessing the secret off-screen couple, so kudos to you! I guess the accidental April Fools' Day joke was me updating on the 26th? Although, I'm sorry to report that I was never kidding about them breaking up in May.

x

**APRIL**

x

_"Sometimes, I want to quit this all and become an accountant now. But I'm not good at math and besides the dollar is down. I wanna scream, 'I love you' from the top of my lungs, but I'm afraid that someone else will hear me. You can only blame your problems on the world for so long before it all becomes the same old song. I know we're going to leave this town and get new passports and get out now."  
—_**_The (Shipped) Gold Standard by Fall Out Boy_**

x

Stan found Kyle avidly reading a textbook under the shade of a tree on school grounds—_their_ tree, as Stan often thought of it since he and Kyle spent so much time hanging out under it. Sometimes Kenny and Cartman joined them, but with Kenny out of school and Cartman… being Cartman, Stan and Kyle had been spending more time loitering alone.

Kyle was so immersed in his book that he didn't notice Stan approach until Stan knelt down in front of him.

"Yeah?" Kyle asked distractedly, not sparing Stan a glance. Maybe if he had, he would have taken the mischievous smirk on Stan's face as all the warning he would get. Stan was glad he didn't, though, because the shocked look on Kyle's face when Stan pulled the textbook out of his hands and leaned forward to kiss him was priceless.

At first, Kyle tensed as though unsure whether he wanted to return the kiss or demand that Stan return his book. Then Stan flicked his tongue along Kyle's bottom lip and Kyle melted into the kiss with a happy sigh, mouth falling open compliantly and head tilting for better access. Kyle's hands slid up Stan's chest to rest lightly on either side of his neck and Stan scooted forward in the grass until he was kneeling between Kyle's spread legs. Stan had originally planned this to be a short greeting of sorts, but now he couldn't seem to stop kissing Kyle. Their tongues tangled, their hands wandered, and Stan had to force himself to keep from doing something inappropriate, like attempting to have gay sex with Kyle right here on the ground underneath their tree. Which he could probably look into in the future, but did not seem very romantic as far as first times went.

Kyle's hands wrapped around Stan's waist and he pulled back with a smile, eyebrows rising. "You're in a good mood today."

"I'm just happy to see you," Stan replied, kissing the corner of Kyle's lips before sitting down completely. He didn't give back the textbook, though. "What the hell are you doing, anyway?"

"Studying for finals."

Stan blinked. "What?"

"Finals," Kyle clarified, reaching for his book and frowning when Stan held it away from him. "Those tests we take at the end of the year to determine whether or not we forgot everything they taught us before and after midterms?"

"Kyle, we don't have finals until June."

"So?"

"So, it's _April_."

"…so?"

"You're insane. You realize that, right?"

Kyle rolled his eyes, holding out a hand expectantly. "My grades don't earn themselves, asshole. Give me back my book."

"I'd rather give you this," Stan said as he dug through his bag, slid Kyle's book inside, and came up with one of two rectangular pieces of paper. He placed it in Kyle's hand, watching as Kyle scanned them first with annoyance then with a badly hidden smile.

"I thought the Raging Pussies broke up," he said instead of a more appropriate 'thank you' or 'seriously, Stan, you rock and I will totally do naughty things to you just as soon as we get back to your car'.

"They play secret shows sometimes, small venues, less pressure. Cartman was going to go, but something came up so he gave me the tickets instead," Stan explained. "The concert's in Denver. Can you go?"

Kyle surveyed the ticket again. "Will you give me my book back?"

"Only if you promise not to study until after the concert."

The two of them stared at one another in a stubborn silence for a moment, but Stan was resolute. Usually, it was Kyle being the stubborn one while Stan tended to be more go-with-the-flow if not outright indifferent to what was going on. On this, however, he refused to budge. He wasn't going to let his boyfriend give himself an aneurysm studying for a test that was two months away, especially not after he'd just gotten through studying for anther test last month. There was being prepared and there was being neurotic and it made perfect sense that Sheila Broflovski's son frequently fell into the latter.

Kyle seemed to realize that Stan was not about to relent and sighed, glaring at the ground. "Fine."

"Fine, what?" Stan prompted.

"Fine, I won't study that book until after the concert."

"No, dude. You won't study for finals until after the concert. _That's_ the agreement. So… agree to it."

Kyle was glaring at _him_ now, but Stan could totally deal with that. "_Fine_. I won't study for finals until after the concert. Give me back my book and get away from me, you dick."

Stan smiled sweetly as he handed back the textbook and, ignoring the angry set to Kyle's shoulders that was a clear warning that the next person to ruffle his feathers would get punch in the face, he scooted forward again and kissed Kyle's cheek. Kyle's shoulders relaxed a bit, but he didn't stop glaring.

"I'm mad at you," Kyle announced as Stan kissed his way across his jaw.

"I'm aware of that," Stan murmured, finding that spot on Kyle's neck that he knew to be particularly sensitive and sucking hard. Kyle's entire body shivered and his hands twitched indecisively, as though stuck between shoving Stan off him and dragging Stan closer. Stan smiled against the skin of Kyle's neck. "You know, this method of calming you down is a lot more fun for me than putting you in a headlock until you stop squirming."

Kyle shifted into a more comfortable position, then ran one hand through Stan's hair while the other touched his cheek, lifting Stan's head until they were eye level. Kyle was smiling.

"I'm still mad at you," he wasted no time in mentioning. "But you're pretty much the best boyfriend ever, so I guess I can forgive you."

Stan grinned cheekily. "Yeah, my other six boyfriends tell me that all the time."

"Douche." And this time Kyle really did shove him away. Stan laughed as he sat down next to Kyle instead of between Kyle's legs.

"Oh, how you wound me, baby."

Kyle nudged him with his shoulder, but he was smiling again and he allowed Stan to take his hand and intertwine their fingers without a fuss. They stayed like that until the bell rang somewhere inside the building and kids began pouring out en route to whatever mischief they'd been waiting all day to get into. In the absence of his book, Kyle had begun to doze off on Stan's shoulder without loosening his hold on Stan's hand at all, leaving Stan with nothing but the comfort of his own thoughts. Not that he was doing very much thinking. It felt like he'd been doing nothing _but_ thinking since September and that was getting him nowhere but in a confused circle of _what's love and do I love Kyle and have I ever been in love and if I have who with _and Stan just wanted to enjoy his fucking relationship for awhile. This thing with Kyle may have been tentative and chaotic and, at times, even more trouble that it was worth, but Stan just felt so… happy when he didn't disrupt it by thinking and he just wanted to hold onto that for awhile.

It took him a moment to realize a familiar face was walking past them and, when he did, he raised his free hand and waved it to get her attention. "Hey, Wendy!"

Kyle shifted on his shoulder, muttered something, but didn't wake. Stan slipped his hand out of Kyle's, trying not to be affected by the way Kyle's fingers twitched as though subconsciously unsatisfied by this new turn of events, and instead, as carefully as possible, arranged the two of them so that Kyle was sleeping with his head rested in Stan's lap instead.

Wendy gave the two of them an amused look once she got close. "Are you actively trying to spread Kyle's diabetes or are you guys really this cute all the time?"

There was sort of an edge to her words that Stan could tell wasn't intentionally because she hadn't even seemed to notice. Stan, on the other hand, had spent so much time thinking about Wendy and being with Wendy and staring at Wendy that he could pick up on these subtle nuances in her personality. Wendy tended to get unnecessarily hostile when dealing with a personal crisis, more so if she had to deal with the crisis by herself. He patted the ground next to him.

"Tell Stan all about it," he coaxed since demanding outright that she talk would just put her on the defensive. "You know you want to."

Wendy rolled her eyes at him, but sat down anyway, her eyes briefly flickering to Kyle before returning to Stan. "You're in a good mood today, aren't you?"

"Everyone keeps telling me that. Now, what's up?" Stan watched as Wendy averted her gaze, picking idly at the grass by her feet without actually saying a word. He threaded his fingers through Kyle's hair and hid a smile. "Or, yeah, okay, we could just sit here in an awkward silence until Kyle wakes up. That works, too."

Wendy laughed a little, throwing her handful of grass at him. "Oh, shut up. I'm just—I don't really…" She wiped her hand on her jeans and sighed. "You know, when I pictured you and Kyle finally hooking up, it kind of went a lot… differently than this."

"Oh?"

"Well, _yeah_. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that you and Kyle just… belong together, but once _I_accepted it, I figured it was just a matter of time until you did, too." She gestured vaguely toward them. "Instead, you pull this 'experimentation' shit. I swear, when Kyle told me, I thought you were both stupid as hell for thinking either one of you could just walk away from something like this. Something this _real_. Although," she muttered beneath her breath. "Some people make it seem easier than others."

Stan blinked. "What?"

"Nothing," Wendy said quickly, straightening her posture. "Nothing, just—seriously, Stan, are you really that blind that you can't see how happy you are right now? Because of Kyle? Because you're with Kyle?"

"I know it's Kyle," Stan murmured, a fond smile crossing his face as he looked at the boy in question only to find Kyle snoring lightly. "I'm always this happy when I'm with Kyle."

"Exactly!" Her voice began to rise. "You're _always_ this happy when you're with _Kyle_! What is causing the giant _block_ in your mind that's preventing you from realizing you're in _love_? Why don't you just fucking say how you're feeling?"

Wendy screamed the last part loud enough to both get the attention of at least five of the students in the immediate area and wake Kyle. Stan stared at her wordlessly for a moment, then watched as Kyle stretched with a yawn so wide he nearly dislocated his jaw, then stared up at Stan with sleep-hazy eyes.

"What the hell was that?" he asked softly even as he pushed himself back up into a sitting position and yawned again. He caught sight of Wendy and chuckled. "Oh, I guess that was you."

"Yeah, Wendy's just harassing me with her issues," Stan teased.

Wendy was not in the mood to be amused. She got to her feet and glowered at him. "That doesn't mean I'm wrong, asshole!" She turned the glare on Kyle. "You could do _so_ much better!"

And then she marched off muttering about male stupidity and their inability to properly connect with their emotions. Stan and Kyle exchanged glances.

"Stan, what—"

"Dude, I don't even know."

x

The thing about Butters was, he wasn't in the habit of asking for things. He wasn't a pusher, wasn't an enforcer, wasn't really much of anything except the kind of guy that took what was handed to him and tried to be content with that. When he did push, it was usually only for something he wanted bad enough to fight for it. So, Kenny really should have known he'd end up doing this for Butters whether he wanted to or not.

But once Kenny had caught up with Butters and Sunday and had agreed to study for, and take, the GED, that was it. Butters didn't force him to study the way Kyle would have. He just trusted Kenny enough to believe he was studying of his own according. And even if Kenny had wanted to lie to Butters' face and say he'd take the test even when he still didn't plan to, he wouldn't have been able to continue the lie in the face of the almost overwhelming amount of confidence Butters had in him. Butters believed in him so much that Kenny couldn't stand _not_ trying to be as Butters had fooled himself into thinking he was. He owed Butters that much.

Which was why he was spending his lunch break on Ike Broflovski's bed, flipping through the GED preparation book he'd blown some of his paycheck on. Ike was out from school suffering from laziness, in Kenny's opinion, but the official diagnosis was a fever that Kenny knew for a fact to be self-induced because as soon as Sheila had left to pick up some antibiotics, Ike had been sneaking him into the house and offering to make him something in the kitchen. When Kenny had asked where Ike's 'fever' had come from, the boy had blushed and looked away and muttered something about avoiding someone and that had been that. If Ike wasn't going to talk, Kenny wasn't going to ask.

"Mom should leave me alone for the rest of the day now," Ike said after the third time Kenny had had to roll under the bed to avoid being detected by a very attentive Sheila. Why she needed to take Ike's temperature three times in almost as many minutes was beyond him. "She just—she worries."

"Better her worrying than going to your school to beat the shit out of that kid you're avoiding," Kenny said with a shrug, circling something in his book. Hanging out with Ike wasn't much different than hanging out with Kyle except that Ike was a lot harder to irritate than his brother, cursed more if that was even possible, and generally tended to be a lot more open-minded. Plus, Ike was able to get through a whole conversation without mentioning Stan once, which Kenny hadn't even considered to be much of an accomplishment before hanging out with Kyle.

Ike shifted so that he was resting on his stomach, propping himself up on his folded arms and peering around Kenny's thigh to look at his book. Kenny glanced down at him.

"What?"

"Oh, don't mind me," Ike murmured, scooting closer and resting his chin on Kenny's leg. "I'm thinking of maybe just taking the GED, cutting out high school entirely, and skipping straight to college in a few years."

"I don't know about that. I already have a hard enough time trying to get you to hang out with kids your own age," Kenny said, running one hand through Ike's curls and turning the page with the other. "If you skip high school, you may as well give up on your entire childhood."

"I haven't hung out with kids my own age since they put me in Kindergarten at the age of three," Ike pointed out, shaking Kenny's hand off his head. "I get along with people older, anyway. Because I'm really mature for my age." He gave Kenny an odd look. "_Really_ mature."

"I'm well-aware of that, kid, but you are still just a _kid_. Have your balls even dropped yet?"

"Yes, and you damn well know it, too."

"Is it truly possible for any of us to know anything we have not ourselves seen?" Kenny mused, pretending to check. Ike rolled away from him with red cheeks and he snickered as he went back to his book. "Like I said, maybe you should start hanging out with kids your own age."

"Good thing you're my age mentally," Ike muttered as he crawled back under the sheets and curled himself into a little ball. "Also, your lunch break was over like five minutes ago."

Kenny was less than pleased to check the clock and discover that Ike was right. He closed his book and stuffed it into his bag, sighing as he tried to muster up the energy to get up, go back to work, and spend the rest of the afternoon fixing fucking cars. Kenny _hated_ cars.

"If you hate it so much," Ike asked, one arm thrown over his face. Kenny would have thought he was asleep if he hadn't spoke. "Why don't you just get a different job?"

"Messing around with cars is all I know how to do," Kenny replied petulantly as he reached over the side of the bed to grab his boots and start pulling them on. "I had a job in fast food when I turned sixteen, but I kept falling face-first into the deep fryer and got chased home by the hungry dogs in the neighborhood because I smelled like burger meat. It sucked harder than this. Besides," he smirked. "I'm pretty sure the sight of me all sweaty and covered in grease makes Butters like ten times hornier so it's not _all_ bad."

"I wish we all had your zest for life, Ken."

"Nah, I just like the fucking. Seriously, Butters is crazy good in bed. You should—" Kenny gave Ike an amused look. "Well, you can't because you're underage and all, but—"

"I remember, thank you," Ike sighed, rolling onto his side to give Kenny a look that, in all honesty, made him feel a little weird. "I guess I'll see you… whenever."

"Yeah," Kenny got to his feet, slung his bag over his shoulder, and ran a finger through Ike's hair again. "Good luck with that 'fever', Broflovski."

Ike shifted enough to bare his forehead to Kenny, who kissed it lightly and winked before he headed for the window and showed himself out.

x

Wendy was letting out her aggressions in a completely healthy manner when she got the call. Of course, a healthy manner for Wendy was simply one that did not involve killing or maiming the object of her anger. Arranging her potatoes into a crude likeness of Patty Nelson and then smashing it repeatedly into paste was a lot healthier than taking a sledgehammer to Patty Nelson's actual face. Her aggression was slightly tempered by the fact that she knew that she had no real reason to be aggressive; even if she just let Patty Nelson _have_ Cartman, she'd still have a loving boyfriend, an amazing best friend, and a social network of guy friends she could count on at least some of the time. If she could just be a little less 'have her cake and eat it, too' or, hell, if she could even just stop wanting a guy like _Eric Cartman_, her life would have been so much easier.

Then, Wendy involuntarily thought of the Valentine's day dance and the way she'd trembled as Cartman finally touched her the way she'd been dreaming about for months (years, if she had to be honest). She thought of the way she got a little thrill every time he lifted his lazy head up off his desk long enough to correctly answer one of Garrison's questions and stun the class into silence with his rarely seen intelligence. Well, no, she'd always known that Cartman was intelligent, but it was so rare he actually channeled that into school that Wendy was still surprised every time she saw that A+ at the top of his test papers. And, despite the fact that it hadn't ended well, she thought of Mexico and the strange sort of… pride she'd felt seeing "Cartmanez" navigate that business meeting like an old pro and how flattered she'd been that he'd actually stopped to ask for her opinion. She felt a flush of guilt as she remembered something she had ignored that night: the eager glint for approval in his eyes when he'd taken her back outside and asked if she'd like to tour the park. The glint that had died the second she'd shut him down (and ditched him for Token, of all people).

"It's for you, honey," her mother said, handing the phone to Wendy and sitting back down next to her husband. Thankful for the reprieve from where her thoughts had been headed, Wendy smashed the mound formerly known as Patty Nelson, then wiped her hand on a napkin and left the table.

"Hello?" she said, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder.

"Is this Wendy Testaburger?" the voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn't immediately place it.

"Yes?"

"Wendy, this is Gerald Broflovski from Broflovski & Co? I believe you applied for an internship with my law firm this summer."

Wendy, who had been slightly suspicious up to this point, immediately had to bite her lip to keep from squealing. "Oh! Yes, yes, I did."

"We'd love to arrange an interview with you if you have some time this week. When do you get out of school?"

"Let me check my planner!" Wendy cried, setting the phone on the coffee table and running to her room to look over her schedule. Hell, she'd skip a whole week of school if it got her this internship, but she supposed cutting class would reflect badly on a future lawyer. She didn't want the people she would have to eventually crush to claw her way to the top to have too much ammo against her when they went digging into her past.

She ran back downstairs and picked up the phone again. "I can come by this Friday at five? Is that okay?"

"That's actually perfect," Mr. Broflovski said pleasantly. "I'll see you then."

"Yeah, okay. You too. I'll see you, I mean. I—" Wendy clenched her eyes shut in embarrassment and squeaked out, "Bye."

A chuckle and a dial tone later, she was staring blankly at the phone, too stunned to really respond. Then, she let out a scream so loud they heard it in North Park and raced into the dining room.

"Mom! Dad! I got an interview with Broflovski & Co for their summer internship! Me! At a real law firm! Working with real lawyers! Oh my fucking god, I have to call Bebe!" Without even waiting for her parents' to respond, Wendy hurried back the way she'd come, grabbed the phone, and locked herself in her bedroom.

x

"Yeeees?" Eric Cartman drawled into the phone about ten minutes later, filling a bowl with enough Cheesy Poofs to feed a small country, if he were so inclined. Which he wasn't. He was half-considering taking his bowl of Cheesy Poofs and planting himself on Kenny's front step to eat them so he could have a good laugh at the hungry way in which Kenny and his family would glare at him, but he wouldn't. He didn't feel like getting beat up by a neighborhood full of greasy poor people just dying for the opportunity to steal food off the rich white man. The temptation was great, though, so great he was considering compromising and just calling Kenny to tell him he was about to eat something.

There was a weary sigh at the other end of the line. "Eric Cartman?"

Cartman smirked as he placed the voice. "Mr. Broflovski. What a pleasure to hear your voice. How may I be of assistance this fine afternoon?"

"You applied for our summer internship at Broflovski & Co," Mr. Broflovski said, sounding both repulsed and reproachful. As though he doubted the validity of Cartman's resume, which was ridiculously good even by the shrewdest of standards. He owned his own freaking amusement park for pete's sake. Menial labor was a little below him at this point. "We'd like you to come in for an interview. This Friday, if you can."

The smirk deepened. "Whatever time is good for you, Mr. Broflovski. I'd hate to inconvenience you in any way."

"Yes, well," Mr. Broflovski cleared his throat uncomfortably. "How's five thirty?"

"Excellent. I'll see you then."

Another sigh. "Goodbye, Cartman."

"Goodbye, Mr. Broflovski."

Cartman hung up the phone, pouring the rest of the Cheesy Poofs with renewed vigor and deciding that he was in way too good of a mood not to go rub the fact that he could afford to eat in the poor people's face.

"_Meeeeeeehhhm_," Cartman called up the stairs as he put a plastic covering over his bowl and grabbed his jacket. "I'm going to Kenny's!"

The constant squeaking that had been coming from upstairs slowed. "Okay, have fun!"

Making a mental note to call the plumber later to fix that pipe or whatever that squeaking was, Cartman left the house.

x

Stan was kind of aware that his parents knew. And they knew he knew they knew. And yet no one was actually willing to come out and say that Stan was gay and for Kyle and they were totally dry humping all over the place when no one was around. Stan wasn't about to break tradition by beginning to tell his parents anything about his life and his parents were either too scared or too disgusted to bring it up. His failed date with Powder hadn't been swept under the rug, though, and it was going to come to a head eventually.

That day was not today, however, even if Stan had to sneak out of his own house in order to prevent either one of his parents from giving him the third degree about where he was going (Denver), with whom (Kyle), and why (well, duh). It had technically been a whole eight months since he and Kyle had hooked up and although Stan wasn't the type to celebrate half-a-verseries or whatever weird holidays girls tended to cook up, he couldn't help but be a little proud of the milestone. When he'd first asked Kyle to agree to this, in all honesty, he hadn't expected it to last very long. He'd thought that they would drag their feet for about a week, maybe hold hands (which wasn't unusual for them), and break up after the first awkward kiss and return to considering everyone else crazy for trying to hook them up. And then that first kiss had been anything but awkward and, well, here they were.

Kyle flashed the headlights on his car, making Stan realize that he'd been standing by the side of his house, lost in thought, and had missed Kyle's arrival entirely. He jogged over to the car and climbed into the passenger seat, buckling up without needing to be asked since he knew Kyle wouldn't move the damn car until he did.

"Hey," Stan said happily, leaning in for a kiss and laughing when Kyle covered his mouth with a hand and shoved him away. "You know, at some point, we're going to have to have a long talk about your intimacy issues."

"I don't have intimacy issues," Kyle replied as he pulled away from the curb. "We were parked in front of your parents' house and I _thought_ this was supposed to be some kind of secret. They know what my car looks like, Stan."

"Well, you're right about that. Except for the fact that you _do_ have intimacy issues. I would know. I've been trying to get intimate with you for eight months now."

Kyle gave him a dry look as soon as they hit a stop sign. Stan tried valiantly to suppress a smile.

By the time they hit Denver, Stan had successfully gotten Kyle to loosen up to the point that when Kyle put the car in park and Stan reached across the seat for the kiss he'd been cheated out of, Kyle crawled over the auto and pinned him against the car window in his haste to make up for it. They were interrupted by a sarcastic knock on the car window as some passing kids snickered and yelled, "Get a fucking room!" through the glass. Kyle was blushing as he climbed back onto his side.

"Ah… Raging Pussies?" he said as he turned off the engine. "Don't want to have wasted all that gas for nothing."

Stan, momentarily distracted by the green in Kyle's eyes, blinked then smiled. "Amen to that. I'm dying for a hot dog anyway."

The inside of the small club was packed despite the fact that this had been rumored to be a "secret show", but no secret concert ever stayed a secret from dedicated fans for long. And Cartman was very dedicated, in that he made it his business to know everything that went on ever just in case it turned out to benefit him in some way.

"You go get your hot dog. I'll find us some spots," Kyle called over the sound of the band warming up. Stan caught him as he was about to leave and kissed Kyle on the nose, prompting a laugh out of him.

The line for the concession stand was long. Stan was trapped behind a kissing couple, a woman who looked a little too old to be there, and another girl around his own age. He looked through the crowd until he found Kyle standing relatively near the stage, deep in conversation with one of the many guys milling around. Initial reservations aside, Kyle seemed to be in fairly high spirits that night and it made Stan happy to see Kyle so relaxed and happy. He'd even kept his word; Stan hadn't seen Kyle touch a single book in the days leading up to the concert. Stan didn't realize how much of a drastic change it would be to _not_ constantly see Kyle bent over one book or another with that little worry wrinkle between his eyebrows. It was a little refreshing, actually, and he got the distinct feeling that Kyle felt the same way.

He bought a hot dog and soda for himself and a smoothie for Kyle, then weaved through the crowd to join his boyfriend. Kyle looked up from his conversation at Stan's arrival, practically plastering himself to Stan's side and dragging him down into a kiss.

"Welcome back, honey," Kyle cooed, glancing over his shoulder. Stan followed his gaze, but the boy he'd been talking to was gone. Kyle sagged with relief. "What took you so damn long to get back? A couple more seconds and that guy would have thrown me over his shoulder and had his wild way with me in a dark corner."

"Oh," Stan said, his view of the conversation taking on an entirely new light. "Was that guy hitting on you?"

"Nah, he verbally rapes everyone," Kyle said sarcastically, then paused. "No, wait, actually, I bet he probably does."

Annoyed, Stan handed Kyle the smoothie and wrapped an arm around his waist, tugging him close as the concert began. Kyle fitted himself into the circle of Stan's arm with ease, sipping his smoothie and keeping his eyes on the stage. Stan knew Kyle loved the Raging Pussies, mostly because they reminded him of fond times, the time after he'd called child services on his parents but before all-out chaos had hit South Park (again). The days of freedom before the shit had hit the fan. Stan just liked their music, but he knew that, for Kyle, they meant something.

It was impossible to be at a Raging Pussies concert and cuddle the whole time, so it wasn't long before Stan had downed his hot dog and soda, Kyle had finished his smoothie, and the two of them were jumping up and down to a fast-paced rock song that had everyone on their feet. Though Stan didn't tend to trouble himself with wondering exactly what it was that hot dogs were made of, the hot dog he'd bought hadn't really seemed to agree with him and he had to stop several times to place a hand over his gurgling stomach.

Kyle, on the other hand, was having a great time, his skin shiny with an extra layer of sweat, his t-shirt clinging to his back and arms, his hat having flown off his head at some point and gotten lost in the crowd. Not for the first time, Stan was struck by how good-looking his best friend (his _boyfriend_) was. Even if he did feel like his stomach was trying to turn itself inside out, it was easy to allow himself to be distracted.

"Alrighty," shouted the lead singer of the Raging Pussies. "Now we're going to play a cover of one of our favorite love songs, so all you fags and fag-ettes better grab someone and start grinding!"

Kyle and Stan exchanged amused glances as they broke out in an updated remix of Elvis Presley's I Can't Help Falling In Love With You and, for once, Stan didn't have to move a muscle. Kyle wasted no time in wrapping his arms around Stan's shoulders and pulling them flush up against one another. Stan's hands found their way to Kyle's hips, which were moving in an extremely inappropriate manner.

"_Some things are meant to be_," Kyle mouthed as he and Stan swayed to the beat. Stan's stomach flipped for an entirely different reason and he buried his head against Kyle's neck to keep the strobe lights from illuminating his blush. It was obvious from the way Kyle was shaking, however, that he had definitely noticed and was definitely laughing. "_Take my hand, take my whole life, too._ Oh, come on, dude. Stop being a pussy and sing. It's not like anyone knows us here."

Stan rolled his eyes, but obliged, " _'Cause I can't help falling in love with you_."

Impulsively, he drew back from the embrace to twirl Kyle into a spin, then dipped him in a gesture of overdramatic romance that got the attention of the band.

"See? Now there's a progressive couple who's really feeling the love!"

Stan looked down at Kyle, who was laughing in that carefree way yet again, as a spotlight lit up the two of them. He took in Kyle's forever messy head of orange curls, his pale, unblemished skin, his huge green eyes and sinful mouth, his lean body hidden under a black t-shirt with a square root sign, green pants, and black boots. He saw Kyle's laughing taper off, those eyes grow concerned, and those lips form his name. His stomach rebelled and he pulled Kyle back into a standing position only to throw up all over him.

The music came to an abrupt halt. Kyle's open-mouthed horror was palpable.

"Dude!" he cried, shaking excess vomit from his skin, much to the disgust of the people around them. "_Sick_!"

"I need air," Stan said, covering his mouth with his hand a bit belatedly and hurrying out of the club. The cool nighttime breeze did wonders to calm his stomach, but not his thoughts. It hadn't been the hot dog that had been making him nauseous, he realized with a sickening jolt. It was Kyle! He'd just thrown up on Kyle! He'd thrown up on Kyle the same way he'd used to throw up on—

Stan reached the car and rested his forehead against it, staring wide-eyed at his reflection in the car window. His mind had come to a screeching halt as though afraid of where his thoughts were leading him, but his body was thrumming with the knowledge that it had just confused Kyle for Wendy and proudly regurgitated its contents in a twisted act of affection. Or… or maybe it had just been spending his childhood mistaking Wendy for Kyle?

It was too much. This was too much. Stan closed his eyes and pressed his forehead even harder against the car door, resisting the urge to bang his head against it.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," he told himself angrily. Because, even with all this, he'd still screwed up a pretty much perfect date. "Goddamnit!"

"Stan?"

He didn't turn around or open his eyes. "Dude, I am so sorry."

"Hey," Kyle's hand touched his shoulder. Stan slowly his opened his eyes and met Kyle's gaze through the window. He was smiling, although Stan could still see the stains on his shirt and in his hair. He groaned. "No, seriously, dude, it's fine. I mean," Kyle dropped his hand, smile widening. "I guess I'm flattered?"

"Flattered that I threw up all over you?" Stan muttered, fighting the urge to small back. "Maybe you're the sick one."

"I probably am," Kyle acknowledged grimly. "I mean, I'm wearing your vomit and I'm still going to let you fool around with me after I go home and shower. I guess barf's just one of my kinks."

Stan turned. "Really?"

"About the fooling around or the kink? Because if you throw up on me again, we're so over. Go watch 2 Girls, 1 Cup for that shit."

"I really want to kiss you right now, but I taste like vomit and you smell like it and—"

"Let's just go home. They don't want us back in there, anyway."

Kyle let Stan drive because he didn't want to get barf all over his steering wheel and Stan happily agreed since driving gave him something to do other than think about the cause of his sudden lack of control over his gag reflex.

x

Friday afternoon found Gerald Broflovski sitting primly behind his desk at the law firm, looking over Wendy Testaburger's resume. In all honesty, he didn't even need to check her credentials. He knew from her long-standing friendship with her son that Wendy was one of the most outstanding students at South Park High School with a good head on her shoulders and a real passion for law. If anyone deserved the internship, it was her. However, Gerald wasn't exactly allowed to show favoritism when it came to choosing the new interns. If it were up to him, he wouldn't have a five thirty appointment at all and Wendy would have already started her duties.

He sat up in his chair as she knocked on the door at exactly five o'clock, poking her head in and offering him a shy smile. She was dressed very professionally, in a tasteful black skirt and collared shirt, her hair whirled up into a bun. In fact, she looked a little like she was trying too hard, but Gerald didn't hold it against her. She was probably just nervous.

"Good afternoon, Miss Testaburger. You can just take a seat right there," Gerald said, pointing to the only other chair in the room. "How are you feeling today?"

"Nervous but excited, sir," Wendy said politely. "I've really been looking forward to this."

"I can tell. Let's get right to it, shall we? What are your plans for the future?"

"To go to Harvard Law School and eventually open my own law practice."

"Lofty. I see you like to dream big."

"I don't like to settle for anything less than perfect, sir," Wendy's tone was undercut with exactly the kind of determination and drive that would get her far in this field. "And I know exactly what I'm capable of."

Gerald marked something down on her resume to hide his smile and nodded. "Very good. Why do you want to work at Broflovski & Co?"

"Broflovski & Co is the oldest and most reliable law firm in South Park. It was actually the way you handled_ Everyone v. Everyone_ back when I was in fourth grade that made me want to become a lawyer. I want make a difference in the world. I want to help people who can't help themselves. And," Wendy added with a little laugh. "I'm extremely good at arguing my point. You can ask anyone."

"I'll just take your word for it," Gerald said, allowing the smile to show through. "Let's discuss your summer plans…"

By the time Gerald had ascertained that not only had Wendy cleared her entire summer schedule to make room for this internship, but she was also in possession of both a car for long errands and a couple of contacts in the law business that she could call in favors from, he had pretty much made up his mind. They were still talking when someone knocked on the door again and Gerald glanced at the clock only to see that it was five thirty.

He tried not to sigh. "Well, Miss Testaburger, it's been a real pleasure, but I'm afraid that's my next interviewee. We'll call you with our decision by Monday."

"Thank you very much," Wendy said, getting to her feet and shaking his hand. "For everything."

"It's no problem," Gerald said as the door opened and Eric Cartman stepped in. He and Wendy gaped at the boy with varying levels of shock and horror.

Cartman was wearing a_ lang rekel_ with matching trousers, black shoes, and a white shirt. A black fedora concealed his hair and his eyes peeked out at them surrounded by a huge, fake brown beard that covered part of his chest. A Star of David necklace hung around his neck.

"Shalom," he said in a slightly muffled voice. "I have come for my interview."

Gerald glowered at him. "What are you wearing?"

"I have recently converted to the one true religion—" the last three words sounded a bit garbled, like he was forcing them out. "And have decided to dress in a manner more befitting of your—my—_our_ people." His eyes flickered over to Wendy and Gerald was almost sure he saw a smirk. "Ho."

"Cartman, what the hell are you doing here?" The polite girl he'd been interviewing for the last half-hour disappeared immediately. Now she was clenching her fists and glaring at Cartman like he was the devil incarnate, which wasn't very far from the truth as far as Gerald was concerned. "Don't tell me you applied for this internship, too!"

"Too?" Cartman asked innocently. "You mean, you applied? Well! What a fortuitous occurrence!"

"You're doing this on purpose just to piss me off!"

"Broflovski & Co is the only law firm in all of South Park, bitch. Where else was I supposed to apply?"

"You don't even want to be a lawyer!"

"Our mayor's useless! I'm not going to learn anything hanging around her fat ass!"

Wendy marched over to Cartman and ripped the fake beard off his face, causing the boy to cry out in pain. Apparently, he had glued it on. "You're such an asshole, Cartman! Why don't you ever leave me alone? Why are you always in my fucking face, huh? And what are you trying to accomplish with this stupid outfit? This is so offensive!"

"Ey! Don't mock my people, tree-hugger!" Cartman snatched his beard back and cradled it. "I paid twenty bucks for that!"

"Fuck you, Cartman!" Wendy snapped before storming out of the office mumbling to herself. Gerald wondered when she would realize that she had just been screaming profanities in his office and hoped it would be when she was back at home and in a position not to do any real harm to herself. He certainly didn't think badly of her because of it. He would have responded in very much the same way if he could.

"Mr. Cartman, why don't you take a seat?" Gerald asked with a tired sigh, watching as Cartman calmly closed the door and sat down. He set the beard in his lab and it was about then that Gerald noticed the brown curls extending down from his hat. He rubbed his eyes. "So, what are your plans for the future?"

"World peace," Cartman answered in an overly innocent voice. "Definitely world peace. I just want us all to get along, you know?"

Gerald sighed again. "I'm sure. Why do you want to work at Broflovski & Co?"

"Because it's the best law firm in town. Which you would totally expect with a Jew running it, because law and medicine are pretty much are best fields, am I right?" Cartman raised his eyebrows as though sharing some kind of joke. "I'm totally right."

Gerald was unimpressed. "Eric, why are you really here? You haven't exactly made it a secret that you hate me and my whole family—and, for the love of all things sacred, take off that outfit. You look ridiculous and I know you haven't converted."

Cartman stared at him silently for a moment, then removed the_ lang rekel _to reveal the black t-shirt bearing a swastika underneath. Gerald couldn't even begin to comprehend all the things that were psychologically wrong with this kid.

"Eric," Gerald began, quite ready to throw Cartman out of his office.

 "Wait," Cartman interrupted abruptly, dropping the innocent tone for one that more… well, Gerald couldn't really place the emotion in his voice, but it was strong. "Look, you're right, I'm not converting and I pretty much hate anything with the name Broflovski attached. Or –stein. Or –burg. Or—"

Gerald pushed his resume back toward him. "So, why are you here?"

Cartman was silent for a long time, his face slowly turning red. Gerald was well prepared to wait him out, however, and simply leaned back in his seat and observed the kid. Cartman looked so uncomfortable that Gerald was almost to the point of deriving some kind of sick pleasure from it, and exactly what did that say about him as a person?

"I'm… the thing is, I…" Cartman cleared his throat and averted his eyes. "I'm in love with that bitch."

"Excuse me?" Gerald said blankly.

This time, Cartman met his gaze head on, his next words coming in one, breathless rush: "I said, I'm in love with that tree-hugging, cause-humping, morally righteous, uppity bitch even though she pisses me the fuck off and she's a dirty hippie and if I sleep with her I'll probably get hippie AIDs and die, but it'd be totally worth it because she's probably a monster in the sack. And even if she wasn't and the sex sucks balls, I'd still want her because she's pretty much the only girl I actually respect enough to give half a damn about, even if she can't stand the sight of me."

Gerald blinked. "…okay."

"I found out she was applying for an internship here so I figured I'd apply, too, and I'll work as hard you want me to if you just let me spend the summer working with her, Mr. Broflovski. I'm so seriously. I'll even convert!"

Another blink.

"Well, okay, I won't convert, but, come_ ooooooooon_."

"Ah… we don't… I can't…" Gerald rubbed the back of his neck. "We call all applicants with our decisions on Monday." The downcast expression on Cartman's face guilted Gerald into adding, "But, I have to admit your second reason for wanting to work with us was a lot more convincing than your first."

"Sweet," Cartman got up, not bothering with a handshake, and headed cheerfully for the door. He stopped. "So, is this interview officially over and done?"

"I guess," Gerald said, wondering where his aspirin was.

"Cool. In that case," Cartman turned and smiled. "Just so you know, if you ever tell anyone I'm in love with Wendy, I'll kill your son. Have a nice day, Mr. Broflovski!"

He began to whistle Lady In Red as he excited.

Gerald stared after him for a moment, then decided that one aspirin was not enough for something like this. Especially considering that Wendy and Cartman had, in fact, been his only applicants. This summer would be… interesting, to say the least.

x

"Hey, have you seen Kyle?" Stan asked Butters Monday afternoon.

School had let out a couple of hours ago, but Stan had had football practice and hadn't had the time beforehand to ask Kyle what his afterschool plans were. The weekend had been… _long_, to say the least. Stan had dropped Kyle off at home, then slept over because he was too exhausted to walk back to his house. He'd fallen asleep on Kyle's bed while Kyle had taken a shower and had woken up to a damp, towel-clad Kyle kissing his way up Stan's chest. Kyle had avoided kissing him head on for fear of vomit mouth, but Stan had found it hard to mind what with Kyle's tongue lavishing its attention on every other body part it could reach. Kyle had then proceeded to get dressed while Stan brushed his teeth and they'd fallen asleep together in Kyle's bed, warm, comfortable, and happy.

Stan had snuck back into his house early Saturday morning without arousing the suspicion of his parents, but, without Kyle, the weekend became one long minute after another in which Stan was forced to get introspective. Because the fact of the matter was that he did not just go around throwing up on people no matter how nauseous he was. The fact of the matter was that there was an elite group of people Stan was gracious enough to do it to. Previously, that group had been a group of one, but now…

Butters, who was sitting on the bleachers by the field where the cheerleaders were practicing in case Bebe needed him, thought hard. "I'ah think he's in the gym playing a practice game with some of the guys." Butters followed this up with a smile. "D-Did you guys have a good weekend? Kyle sure did seem happy today."

"I—Something like that…" Stan replied hesitantly, watching Bebe and Wendy get tossed into the air by the other girls on the squad. "Listen, Butters, can I ask you a question?"

"Well, sure, Stan. You can ask me anything!"

"What do… what do you think of me and Kyle? I mean, together. When we're around each other do we act, um…"

"L-Like you've been in love for so long it's a wonder you're not already married?" Butters finished for him with an amused little grin. "'Course it's a wonder either of you bother to remember the rest of us exist what with h-how caught up in one another ya are. Ain't it great to find your other half?"

"My other half?" Stan repeated, licking his lips. "Yeah, I mean—"

"I'ah find it real hard to believe there was ever a time when the two of you weren't StanandKyle. Like, before we all met in Pre-K, before you and Kyle knew each other, did either of you exist?" Butters chuckled. "I'ah know it's a stupid question, but it kind of makes me feel weird out to see one of you without the other so sometimes I'ah wonder…"

Suddenly uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going, Stan hurried down the bleachers. "Yeah, well, thanks, Butters. I'm going to go find Kyle now. Bye!"

Kyle was indeed in the gym, dressed in a white t-shirt and gym shorts, in the midst of a three-on-three game. Token and Craig were on his team while the other, shirtless team was composed of Clyde, Kevin, and Bradley. Stan made his way through the doorway, leaning against the wall instead of joining a shaking Tweek in the bleachers. The blonde was clutching a cup of coffee that Stan didn't want to end up wearing.

Craig was in possession of the ball but when Clyde ran over to block him he threw it over the boy's head to Kyle, who dribbled down the court toward the basket. Kevin went to intercept him, but Kyle bounced the ball through his legs then gracefully twirled around him to catch up with the ball, which he then threw into the hoop from the three point line. All three members of the Skins team groaned.

"Game: Team Awesome!" Token cried, hurrying over to Craig and Kyle. The three boys high-fived one another. Token clapped Kyle on the back. "Good hustle, Kyle. No wonder you're our star player."

Stan watched the three of them in silence, his mind wandering. Involuntarily, an random montage of the last few months began to play in his mind, memory after memory making his heart start pounding and his stomach start gurgling.

_"It's really hard not to touch you sometimes."_

"I guess he's got to do something in between studying and taking impromptu trips to Peru," Craig said, being an asshole as usual. He caught sight of Stan over by the wall and smirked. "Your wife's here to show her support, Broflovski."

_"Are you really that blind that you can't see how happy you are right now?"_

_"It's always been Kyle with you."_

"At least mine doesn't constantly register a ten on the Richter scale all by himself," Kyle shot back before turning around and searching for a moment before catching sight of Stan. The smile that crossed his face made the bile rise in Stan's throat.

_"Kyle's all the things I'm usually attracted to. He's smart, outspoken, and opinionated with a strong sense of morals and a great sense of humor…"_

_"Once_ I_ accepted it, I figured it was just a matter of time until you did, too."_

_"KYLE! THE OTHER HALF OF YOUR SOUL IS AT THE DOOR…"_

_Shit, _he thought as Kyle jogged over to him. _Not now, not now, not—_

"What are you doing here?" Kyle managed to get out before Stan threw up all over him. Again. "GODDAMNIT, STAN!"

"Sick, dude!"

"Gross!"

"That's going to be a bitch to wash out…"

Stan glared at Clyde over Kyle's shoulder, then wiped at his mouth and tried a smile. "Um. You were going to take a shower anyway?"

Kyle was glaring at _him_. "What the hell is wrong with you lately? Jesus Christ!"

With that kind sentiment, Kyle turned on his heel and headed for the locker room. Stan's nausea almost immediately faded, replaced by a fluttering feeling he also recognized.

_"Why don't you just fucking say how you're feeling?"_

_"I love Kyle."_

_What's wrong with me?_ he repeated, staring at the ground. _What's wrong is I think I'm in love._

x

"I'm not helping you kill Kyle," Kenny said for the fiftieth time as he walked down the street with Cartman at his side. Cartman had filled him in on his interview with Gerald Broflovski, right down to the confession that had cinched him the internship, but Kenny still didn't see the need for murder. "I'm sure Mr. Broflovski won't say anything."

"Jews can't be trusted because they have no souls, Kenny," Cartman said, also for the fiftieth time. "But, fine, we can still kill the other one. What's-his-name."

"Ike is his name," Kenny corrected. "And if you touch him,_ I'll_ kill _you_."

"Yeah, right," Cartman scoffed, though he looked a little worried. "I didn't realize you had such a boner for the little kid. What, is one fag not enough?"

"Butters is more than enough. Ike's just a good friend," Kenny stopped in front of a burger place and sat down on the sidewalk. He waited until Cartman was sitting down next to him to continue. "Think of the fact that he gave you the internship as sort of a confidentiality agreement between you and Mr. Broflovski. You work for him, he doesn't tell anyone you're working at a Jewish law firm to be closer to the girl you're in love with."

"_Shhhhhhh_!" Cartman hissed, eyes scanning the immediate area. "That bitch has spies everywhere. She's almost as bad as me."

"Which, of course, is why you want to bone her."

"SHHHHHH!"

"I'll shut up if you buy me dinner."

Cartman glanced up, realizing what they were sitting in front of, then glared at Kenny. "Kenny, you poor asshole."

"Says the asshole who sat in front of my house eating Cheesy Poofs for four straight hours and hit my sister when she tried to steal some."

"I do not recall the incident in question."

"Because Kevin came out and chased you home threatening to rip out your ribcage and eat Cheesy Poofs out of _that_."

"…do you want your damn dinner or not?"

Five quarter pounders later (as Kenny had begun to sing 'Cartman and Wendy sitting in a tree' when Cartman had refused to buy enough food for the whole family), the two boys headed back toward Kenny's house on the main street to avoid getting jumped. Kenny gave his opinion in between large bites of his burger.

"You just gotta try and see the good in this. I mean, now that Mr. Broflovski knows, he'll probably be on your side and give you and Wendy plenty of opportunities to be alone together. You know, if you stay on his good side and _don't_ kill either one of his sons. God, this is good food."

"I guess. Seems like it'd just be easier to pick one off, though. Does the world really need that many Jews?"

Kenny gave him a look.

"Excuse me if I find it hard to accept advice for the guy assfucking Butters Scotch. Hell, it's a wonder I even hang out with you anymore, you're such a Melvin-lover."

"At least I'm getting some," Kenny drawled, finishing the burger in record time and starting on the single pack of fries Cartman had bought. "Or was last night not the hundredth time you've woken up from a Wendy-induced wet dream only to realize that she's _still_ not in your bed."

"Fuck you, asshole. I haven't been sleeping that well anyway. Not since I gave Clyde Frog to—" Cartman cut himself off abruptly and growled. "Fuck you!"

"Who's Clyde Frog?" Kenny asked.

"Nothing. Shut up, Kenny."

"Isn't that the name of one of those stuffed animals you used to have all those tea parties with?"

"I hate you, Kenny."

"And by 'used to', I totally mean like last Saturday."

"Shut your fucking mouth, you poor piece of crap!"

Kenny snickered for a minute, then got serious. "You gave away Clyde Frog? What for?"

"None of your damn business. Screw you, Kenny. I'm going home!" And with one more growl in Kenny's direction, Cartman turned around and headed home. Kenny shrugged him off and continued on his merry way back to his own house, a little too grateful for the meal to let Cartman's moodiness drag him down. He could be a good friend later or something, but right now he was bringing home food for his family. Maybe later he could even finish another chapter in his GED book, invite Butters over to see his progress, then fuck him over the coffee table.

x

Wendy had just finished buying some Poland Spring and was on her way back to cheerleading practice when she caught sight of Kyle walking past the cafeteria. She grabbed the bottle out of the dispenser and left her change in the machine in her haste to catch up with him. He looked lost in thought and, besides, she was in no hurry to get back to practice and have Drill Sergeant Bebe holler at her and the other girls for a few more hours. Practice had kind of lost its thrill since Cartman had stopped crashing them to watch. Wendy wasn't planning on trying out for the squad again next year, not that she'd told Bebe yet.

"Hey," she said as she caught up with Kyle, smiling in greeting. "How was basketball practice? Are you guys going to give us something to cheer for at our last game of the year?"

"Stan threw up on me," was Kyle's response. Wendy quickly checked him for any tell-tale signs, but then she realized that his hair was wet as was the corners of his t-shirt. He'd, thankfully, showered.

She paused. "Okay?"

"This is like the fourth time. I've started bringing a change of clothes to school just in case he does it again."

"Well, what's he been eating? Maybe he should think about—"

"No," Kyle was giving her a very meaningful look. "He's been throwing up exclusively _on me_."

Wendy had a brief and alarming thought that Kyle was confessing some kind of sick kink before she realized what he meant. What this meant. What this could mean. Her hand flew to her mouth to cover her gasp. "You don't think…?"

Kyle looked so vulnerable that Wendy wanted to hug him. "I don't know. I mean, I don't want to assume anything, but this is the _fourth_ time. Sometimes, we'll be fine and he'll hold my hand and kiss me and talk to me and then, suddenly, out of the blue, I'm covered in vomit. It's disgusting. I'd dump him if I wasn't ridiculously in love with him."

"And if he wasn't in the process of realizing that he's ridiculously in love with you, too?" Wendy prompted, unable to stop from smiling. "Oh, god, Kyle, this is wonderful!"

"Don't get too happy. He could just be nauseous. He had this hot dog while we were in Denver that I didn't think looked safe."

"Oh, stop it," Wendy snapped, shoving him playfully. "You believe just as much as I do that Stan's in love with you. If he has to throw up on you a hundred times to see it, do you really care? I admit I'm a little miffed because I thought that was our thing, but I'm really just glad you guys aren't being complete and total morons anymore."

"I really don't want this to become a regular thing," Kyle murmured, though his cheeks were pink and he did look suspiciously happy. "But at the same time…"

"The scent of Stan's vomit coating your skin is starting to make you inexplicably happy and it's really grossing you out?"

Kyle's shoulders sagged. "Yeah."

"Deal with it another week," Wendy said as she placed a comforting hand on Kyle's shoulder. "If he keeps throwing up instead of speaking up, I'll read him the riot act. We've had more than enough of this bullshit."

"Thanks, Wendy." Kyle gave her a smile so bright that Wendy understood for a moment why Bebe had wanted him so bad, then shuffled off down the hallway toward the gym. She uncapped her bottle of Poland Spring and took a swig from it, wondering where Stan was and if she could jump the bullet and read him the riot act right now or if Kyle would hate her for it.

Her problem was solved and exacerbated by the arrival of Eric Cartman, turning the corner in the company of Patty Fucking Nelson, who was giggling so loud that there were people in China wondering who the fake-ass bitch laughing at an unfunny joke was and who that whore was trying to get with now. Feeling her mood go from happy to sour in a nanosecond, Wendy leaned against the cafeteria wall and observed the happy couple.

Patty Nelson was clinging to Cartman's arm, staring up with him with such adoration that Wendy kind of just wanted to punch her in the face. Cartman was blossoming under the attention, a smirk on his stupid face even though he hadn't even caught sight of Wendy yet.

"Yeah, it's pretty sweet," Cartman was bragging. "I get to spend the whole summer defending the law. Maybe I'll even get to wear a business suit."

"You'd look so good in a business suit," Patty Nelson gushed. "But then you look so good in everything."

"Oh, I know. These good looks can be a curse sometimes, but I try to get by."

"Oh, _please_," Wendy said in disgust, accidentally drawing the attention of the couple. She folded her arms and leveled her glare on Patty Nelson. "Sorry. Trashy whores give me hives."

"Me, too. I tend to break out around your mom," Cartman replied easily, though he removed his arm from Patty Nelson's grip. He ruined it by smiling at her. "Wendy Testa-bitch is obviously suffering from sand-in-her-vagina syndrome. You might want to get out of range while I handle this."

Patty Nelson gave Wendy a victorious look, then stood up on her tippy-toes and pressed a kiss to Cartman's cheek. Wendy clenched her fist so tightly that she nearly broke the skin of her palm, but otherwise did not give Patty Nelson the pleasure of seeing her react. Once Patty had walked past Wendy and around the opposite corner, she loosened her fist and relaxed. But only slightly.

"Is everything you do in life specifically done to piss me off or is it just an added bonus?" she asked, rubbing her temples. "Because, seriously, sometimes I wonder."

"Not my fault you're so easy," Cartman replied, leaning his shoulder against the wall next to her with his body angled to face her. His eyes swept over her and his smirk returned. "In more ways than one."

Wendy turned to face him as well. "You're giving me a headache."

"My only goal in life."

"I really hate Patty Nelson."

"Many people do."

"And you hate me."

"Pretty much all the time."

"Which does very little to explain why you're stalking me this summer," Wendy couldn't help the little smile on her face. "I mean, we'll have to work long hours—sometimes even over hours—side by side with very little supervision. We'll have to run errands together, maybe even leave town together, and sit in close proximity to one another. We might even have to have conversations."

To Wendy's surprise, Cartman mirrored her smile. "This summer's going to suck balls."

"Seriously," Wendy replied solemnly. "Oh, and Cartman?"

"Yes, ho?"

She took a step forward and stood on her tippy-toes as though about to do a repeat performance of Patty Nelson's cheek kiss, but whispered in his ear instead, her lips barely brushing the outer shell. "Thanks for making my summer suck."

Cartman's body shook almost imperceptibly. Almost, but not quite. Wendy smirked for a moment, then schooled her expression into an innocent one as she pulled away. "See you at the law firm, fatass."

Wendy took it as a personal victory that it was not until she was halfway down the hall that she heard the familiar cry of:

"_Ey_! Don't call me fat, you fucking bitch!"

x

That weekend, Kenny took a day off work and a break from studying to join Butters in walking Sunday around Stark's Pond. In keeping with his nature, Butters had made absolutely no mention of the GED or studying for the GED that day, other than to tell Kenny that the GED test was being offered at a school in Denver in September. After that, he'd started cooing and making funny faces at the dog and Kenny was prepared to come in second to a four-legged animal for the next few hours.

Or, at least, he had been until he caught sight of Stan not even ten minutes into the walk, sitting by the pond and skipping rocks. Kyle was nowhere in sight.

Kenny looked at Butters, who smiled in an entirely adorable way. "Stan was asking me a bunch of weird questions about him and Kyle at school the other day. I'ah think he's having an epiphany."

"And what kind of friend would I be if I didn't help," Kenny said, catching on to where Butters was going with this. He leaned in for a kiss, which turned into an open-mouthed melding of tongues the instant Butters reached up and curled a hand around the back of his neck to keep him there. It had been awhile, what with him at least trying to get through the practice book once before he put it away until August and Butters being grounded for incorrectly organizing the pantry again. Kenny completely forgot about Stan until someone cleared their throat and he stopped sucking on Butters' tongue long enough to see the boy in question standing uncomfortably beside them.

"Can I talk to you?" Stan asked, nodding a greeting at Butters. "I mean, if you're done helping Butters figure out what he had for breakfast."

"Give us ten more minutes," Kenny said, pretending to return to kissing Butters and laughing as both boys gave him twin looks of exasperation. "Geez, learn to take a joke, you two. I'll catch up with you in a few minutes, Butters."

"O-Okay, Kenny. Later, Stan," Butters tugged on Sunday's leash and led the dog away, disappearing into the shrubbery.

Stan stuck his hands in the pocket of his coat and headed back toward the pond, leaving Kenny with nothing to do but follow after him. They sat down on the bench overlooking the pond. Stan picked up a stone a skipped it, then sighed and buried his face in his hands.

"You knew this whole time, didn't you?"

"Dude, everyone knows," Kenny informed him honestly. "We've been telling you for years that you're in love with Kyle. You're the one who wouldn't listen."

Stan let out a laugh that was more like an exhale. "Kyle's avoiding me until I stop throwing up on him. I'm not allowed to get within projectile range of him."

"You've started that up again? Wow, this _is_ serious." Kenny shifted on the bench so that he was facing Stan, placing a comforting hand on Stan's back. "Look, man, it's nowhere near the epic tragedy you're making it out to be. You've been in love with Kyle since the dawn of forever; only thing that's happening now is that you're realizing it. I mean, that was the point of this little experiment, wasn't it? To find out for yourself what the rest of us already knew? Well, now that you're in on the big secret, maybe you should let Kyle in on it, too."

"Oh, I'm planning on it," Stan said, lifting his head at last to reveal the determination burning in his eyes. Kenny had to resist the urge to move his hand from the safety of Stan's back to somewhere further down because Stan was kind of being extremely hot right then. "But I want to do it right. I mean, it's been _months_, years even, and also I've thrown up on him six and a half times since we went on that date to Denver so Kyle more than deserves a little effort on my part. Besides, I don't even know how he feels."

"Really?" Kenny asked incredulously. "You don't know how he feels? Because I could draw you a diagram."

"I know Kyle likes me. And I know he loves me," Stan murmured uncertainly, biting his lip as he stared out at the lake. "But I don't know if he's _in_ love with me. He said once that he could fall in love with me if he tried, but that doesn't mean he has. It doesn't really matter, anyway."

"It doesn't?"

"Nah. Kyle doesn't have to love me back for me to feel this way about him," Stan turned to him with a smile, pure happiness radiating from every inch of him. "I'm happier than I can ever remember being, Kenny. Kyle's been such a big part of my life for such a long time that I took how I felt for him for granted, but now that I know that it's love, I'm like… well, _duh_. It's like this huge weight's been lifted because I don't have to worry about hurting him or our friendship. It's—It's fucking awesome, is what it is."

Kenny returned the smile. "Dude, that's great. But it's really not me you should be telling this all to."

"True. It's just… you've been a really great friend to me throughout all of this, even when you thought I was being stupid, so…" Stan pulled Kenny into a hug then got to his feet. "Alright, gay moment over. I'm going to go find Kyle."

Kenny smirked. "Don't forget the background music and make sure to come up with something really cool and sappy to say once the music builds to a crescendo, you little fairy."

Stan flipped him off, then ran away. Kenny just sat on the bench for a moment, chuckling and shaking his head at the antics of his friends, then heard a dog bark somewhere and remembered that he had his own lover to get back to. With a sigh of content, Kenny got up and went to go find Butters.

x

Kyle and Ike Broflovski was locked in a stalemate of sorts at the kitchen table. Ike, red-faced and frowning, was staring resolutely at the table while Kyle, with narrowed eyes and a frown of his own, was staring resolutely at his brother. And, considering the Broflovski family penchant for tenacity, the stalemate was likely to go on all day if one of them didn't say anything.

Kyle sighed. "Just tell me why a Goth kid showed up here looking for you and this will all go away, Ike. Swept under the rug. I won't even tell Mom."

"You already told Mom," Ike pointed out without looking up.

"Well, in my defense, she was in the living room at the time and she kind of saw."

"Are you in some kind of trouble at school? Because I could totally take the Goth kids, Ike, they're a punch of whiny pussies."

Ike groaned. "Seriously, Kyle? Even if I _was_ in trouble at school, do you really think I'd call you in to fight my battles for me? _I'm_ not a pussy. And, besides, Fillmore's already offered the same thing, which is nice of him considering he used to be the one shoving me into things in kindergarten and first grade."

"Then what's going on?"

The doorbell rang, interrupting them, not that Ike had seemed like he was about to talk, anyway. Kyle ignored at his brother for a moment, but Ike simply blinked back at him and tilted his head toward the living room. "You should go get that."

"Why don't _you_ go get it?" Kyle shot back, mildly surprised when Ike jumped to his feet and went to answer the door. But, then again, it shouldn't have surprised him considering how much Ike seemed to want to avoid this conversation.

Ike was gone for a grand total of five minutes before he returned to the kitchen, jammed his hands in his pockets, and sighed. "Look, if you really want to know what's going on, let's go outside. I need some air."

"Who was at the door?" asked Kyle.

"Mailman. Mom got a package from PFLAG."

Now it was Kyle's turn to groan. "Outside sounds good."

They went to the backyard and sat down in the grass, Ike with his knees drawn up to his chest and Kyle with his legs thrown out in front of him. He stared at Ike expectantly and waited, then waited, then waited some more. Ike's face was red again.

"So I maybe kind of hooked up with that kid a couple of times at school."

It took Kyle a moment to process all the implications of what Ike was saying and, once he did, he nearly choked on his own spit. "You did _what_?"

"But," Ike continued quickly. "I mean, it's totally over now and I'm avoiding him and shit, so."

"Don't say 'shit'," Kyle said absently before the second wave of implications hit him. "The Goth kids don't go to school!"

Ike averted his eyes. "I've been handing in all my assignments on time!" he said defensively. "Thanks mostly to Fillmore, but—"

"You've been _skipping class_ to _hook up_ with a Goth kid?" Kyle cried. "You're eleven!"

"I have hormones, too, Kyle!"

"You're eleven!"

"I told you I was bi-curious!"

"You're _eleven_!"

"I did way worse when I was three!"

Ike had a point and they both knew it. Kyle drew his legs up to his chest as well and hugged them, his mind racing through the many ways he could 'handle' this. Telling his mother was out because Sheila would go crazy and probably homeschool Ike until he learned that not even the exploration of his sexuality was worth sacrificing his education for. Beating the shit out of the Goth kid wouldn't do anyone any good because Kyle would just become the subject of yet another shitty poem about the meaningless disaster that was life. And locking Ike in his room himself would definitely put a rift in their relationship.

Kyle looked at his brother again and saw that Ike's cheeks had gone from red to slightly pale and his lower lip was trembling although the fire in his eyes had yet to fade. Ike was only eleven, but he _was_ Kyle's little brother and Kyle wasn't being very fair to him.

"It's okay," he said, slipping an arm around Ike's shoulder even though he knew Ike hated that. "Everybody, no matter how young I guess, has to experiment a little before they find what they like. I guess. It's just… a Goth kid, Ike?"

"I know," Ike whined, burying his face in his hands. "I was just kind of desperate. Kenny's turned his back on his whorish lifestyle and thinks I'm jailbait anyway and none of guys in my class are, you know, _like that_."

Kyle raised an eyebrow. "Really? I thought your friend Fillmore—"

"He and Flora got back together last month," Ike said with an irritated sigh. "That's why he hasn't been around as much."

"Dude, I'm sorry. I got the same treatment when Stan was with Wendy except—"

"Except _I_ don't want to bone Fillmore the way you wanted to bone Stan."

Kyle's cheeks flamed. "Shut the fuck up."

"Don't say 'fuck'," Ike teased. Kyle shoved him over onto the grass, then got to his feet and dusted himself off.

"I'm going back inside, unless there are any other pubescent boys about to show up on our doorstep looking for you that you want to tell me about?" Kyle eyed him suspiciously. "Any other deep dark secrets I should know?"

Ike thought about it. "Well, Stan's the mailman."

"…what?"

"The mailman. At the door? That was actually Stan. He's probably upstairs in your room by now."

Kyle opened his mouth to say something, then closed it as he wasn't quite sure what the proper way to respond to that was. Instead he turned and headed back inside, leaving the kitchen door open so that Ike could come back inside when he was ready, then headed for the stairs. There was a little slip of paper on each step. Thanking the good lord that it wasn't a trail of rose petals, Kyle picked up the first one.

_Reason 23: You're so scrawny I'm afraid you're going to stab me with your elbows or trip and break your hips, but I kind of like the fact that I can lift you up without even straining myself. You could kick my ass in a fight, though, which makes us even._

Chuckling to himself, Kyle gathered paper after paper after paper, quickly organizing them to see that he now had, in total, reasons two through sixteen plus twenty-two and twenty-three, and stuck them in his pocket to be read later. The door to his room was slightly ajar and when Kyle pushed it open, he was slightly amused by what he saw.

Stan was sprawled out on his back on Kyle's bed, fully clothed, and looking rather smug. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Kyle. This is a romantic surprise, not a porno."

"Aww," Kyle said as he closed his bedroom door behind him. "And here I was hoping you'd be wearing whipped cream and nothing else. Do you at least have sensuously scented massage oils?"

"No," Stan replied, sitting up and stretching out his hand. "But I'll definitely look into it in the future."

Kyle took Stan's hand and allowed himself to be pulled onto the bed where his wonderful boyfriend was waiting. He wrapped his arms around Stan's waist, accidentally fitting their hips together, and tilted his head to the side coquettishly. "Is there a part two to my surprise or are you just going to ravish me?"

Stan's eyes softened and his hands came up to cradle Kyle's face. "Actually, I wanted to take you out for dinner. This Sunday, if you're up for it."

Kyle's breath caught. "I'm up for it. Of course I'm up for it. Except…"

"Hm?" Stan murmured as he traced the line of Kyle's collarbone with his tongue.

"Are you going to throw up on me again?"

Kyle shivered from the pleasurable tingling the vibrations of Stan's laughter caused. "I don't think we'll have to worry about that anymore."

"Oh." Kyle's stomach sank a little. "Good."

Stan pulled back until they were face-to-face, then pressed a kiss to Kyle's forehead, each eyelid, his cheeks. Kyle felt his breathing speed up just the slightest bit as he leaned into Stan, unsure where the sudden burst of affection was coming from but enjoying it just the same. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything inappropriate to ruin the moment and just let his heart start doing palpitations in his chest.

When their lips finally met, Kyle was wound so tight that he melted into the kiss with a moan, his hands sliding up to rest on Stan's chest and his mouth opening immediately. Stan's tongue stroked into his mouth, one hand clutching the small of Kyle's back to keep him close and the other caressing Kyle's cheek. Kyle's entire body felt like it was on fire everywhere that Stan was touching him and he couldn't stop himself from making small noises of appreciation with every slip and slide of their tongues and every soft brush of Stan's fingers against his skin.

It felt like the beginning all over again, when he'd been so exhilarated by the fact that he was finally allowed to touch Stan the way he'd always wanted to that he'd gotten drunk on every kiss and touch. Kyle swallowed Stan's sharp gasp as one of Kyle's hands suddenly slipped under his shirt, brushing against his flat stomach and circling a nipple. Stan was trembling against him now, panting against Kyle's lips more than he was actively participating in the kiss, and Kyle continued to pepper little kiss on Stan's parted lips even as his other hand traced the line of Stan's jeans.

 "Stop," Stan whispered breathlessly, swallowing hard as he removed both of Kyle's questing hands from his body. "We can't. Not yet."

_But I really want to,_ Kyle almost said before thinking better of it and running his hands over his face.

"Sorry." He smirked a little. "It's really hard _not_ to touch you sometimes."

"I know the feeling," Stan said with a smirk of his own. "I'd suggest we take a cold shower together, but that seems like it would be counterproductive."

"Want to grab Ike and watch a movie instead?"

"Sounds good."

x

By the time Stan made it back home, he was in high spirits. He wasn't sure exactly where he would take Kyle for dinner yet—maybe to the same restaurant he'd taken Powder so he wouldn't permanently have bad memories of the place—but he was both nervous and excited about it. If he played his cards right, he'd have Kyle swoon in his arms in no time. And even if he got rejected, well, at least he would show Kyle the romantic night his little Jewish heart could stand.

So, of course, since Stan was so happy, the very first thing he came across upon entering his house was his parents sitting stoically in the living room. They looked at him as soon as he closed the door.

Stan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What?"

"Sweetie," Sharon began hesitantly.

"Son, we know you and your little gay friend are fooling around and your mother's getting nervous about all the time you spend sneaking out to buttfuck him and would like you to be upfront and honest about your relationship so we can deal with it like a family," Randy finished, downing what was left of his Corona. "Damn, I need more."

Stan had been dreading this moment for so long that he was kind of at a loss as to how to react to that. Luckily, his mother didn't give him time to.

"Randy!" she hissed before turning concerned eyes on Stan. "Son, I know we promised not to talk about your love life anymore, but we just want you to know that we really don't have a problem with you and Kyle being together. I mean, the two of you have been together for as long as I can remember. I suppose this sort of makes sense."

"I always told you that if you didn't stop spending so much time with him, you'd turn out funny," Randy added. "Didn't I tell him, Sharon?"

"Anyway, you may not think so, but we have to treat Kyle the same way we've treated any of your other partners… which means you're going to have to bring him to dinner so we can formerly meet him—"

"You've already met Kyle. And he's already met you." And Stan could totally see where this shit was going and it wasn't anywhere good. Hell, he'd already learned his lesson from last time and was this close to just offering up Sunday as a perfect family dinner night since he and Kyle were already planning to have dinner that night anyway. "I think this is really unnecessary."

"You're seventeen, son, no one cares what you think," said Randy with his usual amount of sympathy. "How's Sunday afternoon? I'm not doing anything then."

Stan clenched his eyes shut once more. "No. Kyle and I already have plans that night."

"Well, now you have other plans," said Sharon firmly. "Sunday night is perfect for me, too, actually. Kyle keeps kosher, right? I'll call his mother for recipes."

Stan slumped, resigned. "He's also diabetic, Mom."

"Oh? Hm, this is going to be tricky. Oh, well, I do love a challenge."

Stan opened his eyes and looked at his mother and father. Randy was staring petulantly at his empty Corona bottle, but spared him an insouciant grin when he caught Stan staring at him. Sharon was beaming at him as well. He tried to convince himself, not for the first time, that they meant well, but he kind of just wanted to punch them both in the face.

"I'll be in my room," he sighed, heading for the stairs. Then, he added under his breath, "Changing my name and eloping to Canada with Kyle…"

x

TBC


	9. May

"_Do you remember how we met silhouetted by the lights? You were drunk and tried to take a mental picture with your hands. I was thinking about that and a bunch of other things. Stop looking at the floor. I need to pour out this expansive dose of words. I can't explain. I need to be alone. I know the timing isn't great, but these things you just can't plan. I just need a little time so I can find myself again. 'Cause I get buried underneath all the things they think you are and I'm too tired to pretend it doesn't hurt to be left out. I had a pocket full of dreams, but I gave them all to you. Now, I think I want them back so can you tell me if I'm crazy or confused? Don't ever change the way you are. I've never loved anyone more."  
—__**The Conversation by Motion City Soundtrack**_

x

**MAY**

x

"Oh, fuck," Stan moaned as he tilted his head back.

Kyle was almost painfully beautiful while he was riding him, all long limbed and scrawny with a bright sheen of sweat covering his pale skin and those pink lips open on a gasp, round and wet. Stan wanted to kiss him, but he couldn't really concentrate on moving _and_ gripping Kyle's hips to keep the rhythm from slowing at the same time. He cracked open an eye, unsure when he had closed them, and his heart got stuck in his throat when he saw that Kyle was watching him. Kyle's pupils were blown wide from pleasure and yet were still so loving and perfect and _Kyle_. That gave Stan all the strength he needed to reach up, cup the back of Kyle's neck, and drag Kyle down into a sloppy kiss. He rolled them over so that he was on top and drove in deep, shuddering at the ragged, hoarse sounds coming from Kyle's mouth.

"_Stan_," Kyle breathed, bucking up to meet Stan's thrusts. "Oh, god, Stan, please—"

"Like that?" Stan asked, adjusting the angle with each thrust until Kyle's entire body tensed and then seemed to explode with activity. Kyle clung to him and muttered a near continuous stream of _morepleaserighttherestanohgodplease_. Stan himself didn't think he was going to last much longer if Kyle didn't stop clenching his internal muscles like that.

"Dude, I'm—"

"Stan!" Kyle screamed over and over. "Stan! Fuck, Stan! Stan—"

"_STAN_!"

Stan jolted awake, panting and hard. He was disoriented for a moment, sweating so much that his shirt was clinging to his chest, but the disorientation quickly turned to lightheadedness when he saw Kyle straddling his stomach. In light of what he'd just been dreaming about, was it _really_ his fault he got just that much harder at the sight?

"Fuck," Stan sighed, tilting his head back much like he had in his dream only for a completely different reason. "Please tell me I didn't mess up your sheets."

"Well, no," Kyle said quite calmly. "But you were rutting against me like a dog in heat and I swear you were five seconds away from rubbing a hole in my pajama bottoms just big enough for your dick to fit through." A smirk crossed his face. "You animal. Can't keep your dirty hands off me even in your dreams."

That brought back a flash of pale skin and moving hips that Stan really did not need to be seeing right now. He sighed again. "Dude, not funny. Can we talk about something else, please? Because I can't fall asleep with this boner and it's not going to go away what with you sitting five inches away from it."

"What about if I put it in my mouth? Would that help?"

Stan choked on air. "Kyle—"

"Or I could…" Kyle mused, wiggling backwards until his ass was nudging against the bulge in Stan's pants, which twitched in interest. "Whoa, that must have been one hell of a dream."

"Kyle, _please_," Stan had to fist his hands in the sheets to keep from reaching for Kyle because, if he did, he wouldn't be able to stop. "I'm a seventeen year old boy. I don't have the kind of self-control you seem to be expecting and the things I want to do to you…"

Kyle looked almost surprised for a moment. "…what kinds of things?"

"_Kyle_."

"Sorry, sorry," Kyle climbed off him and off the bed entirely, shifting his weight from foot to foot and looking at anything but Stan. "My parents sleep like the dead, so I think you can probably take a shower without them realizing."

Stan gingerly pushed himself into a sitting position, glancing at Kyle to see him blushing up a storm. He smiled. "You have absolutely no idea how sexy you are, do you?"

Kyle's blush deepened.

"Don't you think there's a reason you're known for having the best ass in school?"

"It's never mattered to me what any of them think," Kyle admitted, still refusing to meet Stan's eye. "None of them are you."

Stan's heart fluttered. "Wow. That was pretty gay, dude."

"_You're_ pretty gay," Kyle retorted immediately. "Or was it not me, a guy, who gave you that boner?"

"You bet your fine ass it was," Stan replied as he jumped off the bed and placed a deliberately damp kiss on Kyle's cheek. He smiled as the soft skin became warm under his lips. "Maybe it's you who can't keep your dirty hands off me, even in my dreams."

"I sense an epic logic failure in what you just said."

"_You're_ an epic logic failure," Stan retorted as he headed for the bathroom.

He heard Kyle huff behind him and tried not to laugh. If he did, Kyle would follow him to the bathroom to argue more and Kyle's presence would not do anything to alleviate the discomfort in his pants.

Once in the hallway, Stan allowed himself one more pleasurable minute of recalling all the intimate details of his dream, then pushed it away with a shiver. There was no doubt in his mind that the cold setting on shower knobs was definitely invented for teenage boys. He just hoped he wouldn't have to find out what would happen when they no longer worked.

By the time he returned to Kyle's room, Kyle was fast asleep in the bed, lying on his back with one hand on his stomach and the other stretched toward Stan's side of the bed. His fingers were curled inward as though they had been expecting Stan to be there and, upon finding the bed empty, had resolved to sulk until he came back. Kyle's head was tilted downward, his lips slightly parted and his chest rising and falling gently with each breath.

Stan leaned against the doorpost and just watched him for a moment, the warmth and happiness he'd come to associate with Kyle filling him to the brim. God, he loved Kyle _so much _he had no idea how he could have missed it before. It was like a constant presence in his psyche, a quiet sort of contentment that, without warning, could flare into a passion so zealous it put most to shame. It really wasn't much different from the way he'd felt about Kyle when the two of them had been friends, actually, except the passion, when it flared, had usually manifested itself in a worried dedication to his sick, dead, or dying friend that led Stan to go to ridiculous lengths to keep Kyle healthy, happy, and, most importantly, right by his side.

Huh.

Okay, yeah, that might be why he hadn't noticed it before. He'd been in love with Kyle for so long that he had been incapable of seeing the difference between how he felt now and how he'd felt then. There hadn't been a difference to him. Even now there was no difference; he was just realizing that he'd been filing his love for Kyle under the drastically wrong heading for years. It was kind of a relief to finally realize what was going on. Stan had been so afraid he would hurt Kyle because of his damn inability to feel an emotion he'd already been wallowing in, but now…

_Of course,_ he thought._ That's assuming Kyle even feels the same way. _

Stan knew his super best friend well enough to know that Kyle definitely felt strongly toward him, strongly enough to get vulnerable whenever he thought Stan didn't want him and to get jealous of Kenny, of all people, as though Stan would have sex with Kenny. Kyle liked him enough to allow Stan to forbid him from studying and to continue to date Stan even after he'd thrown up on him practically every day for almost a week. Kyle liked him enough to let Stan share his bed and hold him and stick his tongue down his throat and hold his hand when they sat together on the couch watching Terrance & Phillip. Since Stan had never seen Kyle do any of these things with another living being, he had to conclude that Kyle liked him a lot.

But how much was a lot? Did Kyle love him? Stan wanted to say yes, but he didn't have the ego required to be one hundred percent sure. Kyle _could_ love him, he knew that, but he wouldn't be sure about anything at all until he heard it from Kyle's own two lips.

He blinked out of his thoughts, realizing that Kyle had rolled over onto his side and his eyes were half-open, peering at him through the dark.

"You're creeping me the fuck out, dude," Kyle said, voice thick with sleep. "Stop staring at me from the doorway and go to sleep!"

Stan smiled, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "Gladly."

x

"California?" Kenny asked as he and Butters shared a pudding cup on his front porch. Well, porch was actually the wrong word for it since Kenny just had a step that was made from a couple of cement blocks they'd dragged down from a construction site, but Butters referred to it as a porch and Kenny liked to think of it that way, too. He'd made the mistake of leaving his last paycheck out for his father to find and now all that money had gone to the vodka and tonic now sitting on the coffee table. It was lucky that Butters had brought a vanilla pudding cup (Kenny's favorite) over with him or Kenny would be more than a little pissed off. "Why California?"

"Th-They want me to look at Stanford and UCLA for college," Butters said, opening his mouth so Kenny could push another spoonful of pudding inside, then swallowing it with a frown. "I'ah got an aunt up there that we'll be staying with and making a whole summer vacation out of it. I'ah wanted to spend time with you this summer."

"Hey, you gotta get into college, Butters," Kenny said in his most soothing voice, setting the pudding cup aside for a moment in order to pull his visibly pouting boyfriend against his side. "And Stanford's a really good one, isn't it? Your parents just want the best for you."

"Oh, hamburgers," Butters didn't stop pouting, but his shoulders slumped in a way that let Kenny know that he acknowledged the point. "What're y-you going to be doing all summer, Kenny?"

"Not you, apparently," Kenny laughed at the stricken expression on Butters' face. "Don't even worry about it, Butters. I'll find something, even if it _is_ just helping my dad polish off those new bottles."

Butters wrinkled his nose in disapproval, but the gesture itself was so cute that Kenny felt compelled to peck him on the cheek. Butters turned his head to meet the kiss and distracted Kenny for a good five minutes with the silken massage of his tongue before Kenny managed to pull away.

"So I'm thinking," Kenny murmured as Butters, undeterred, kissed his way down Kenny's neck. "Maybe we should have some kind of party before you leave. I mean, if I'm going to spend the whole summer studying, I need a little incentive."

Butters looked up, his eyes shining with happiness at the mere mention of Kenny studying. "Wh-What kind of party? Like Bebe's Christmas party or—"

"Nah, I was thinking something a little more redneck. Like we take a whole bunch of people out to Stark's Pond at night, ply them with a whole bunch of alcohol, and see who ends up making out with who in a bush somewhere before Officer Barbrady comes through with a flashlight. Summer bonfire, maybe?"

"Wouldn't lighting a fire at Stark's Pond bring Officer Barbrady around sooner?" Butters asked and Kenny took it as a personal accomplishment that this was Butters' major concern when, years prior, he would have been more worried that his parents would find out and ground him. "M-Maybe we oughta save that for last."

"Sounds like a plan." Kenny held up the spoon, tossing the empty pudding cup over his shoulder to join the rest of the trash on his floor. "Last spoonful. Want?"

The uncharacteristically devilish smile on Butters' face was the only warning Kenny got before the spoon was taken from his fingers and the pudding was smeared haphazardly across his collarbone.

"Um," Kenny said, his lips twitching with the effort of not smiling. "You missed your mouth by quite a few inches there, Butters."

Still, he obligingly tilted his head back and allowed Butters to lap at his neck like a cat languidly enjoying a bowl of milk. It felt good, better than good considering it was _Butters_ and every time Butters decided to take the initiative it always worked out pleasurably for both of them. Kenny's eyes narrowed as he fought to keep them open and his lips parted so he could breathe despite how difficult it was becoming with Butters sucking at his skin like that.

"Do you have to do that on the front step?" said a familiar voice. Kenny tilted his head back to see an upside-down picture of his brother staring down at him with barely veiled exasperation.

"It's a porch," Kenny corrected, sighing as Butters immediately sat up and looked away, his face red. "And way to interrupt my foreplay just because _you're_ not getting any."

"Mom wants you to take dad's beer bottles down to the recycling center for cash," Kevin said, scratching his stomach idly. "She wants you to do it while you still have pants on."

Kenny sighed again, reaching up to rub the excess pudding off and turning his attention to his embarrassed boyfriend. "Do you want to come with me or just wait here until I get back?"

"I'll watch him for you," Kevin volunteered, giving Butters an appraising look.

"So, you're coming with me," Kenny said firmly, getting to his feet and pulling Butters up with him. "Kevin, go hump the couch or something."

Butters tucked himself against Kenny's side as Kevin wandered back into the house. Kenny could still smell the vanilla pudding on Butters' breath and it made him ache a little.

"I'll go get the bottles. You wait here and try not to get mugged."

x

When Kyle jogged down the stairs to answer the door, he found Ike already leaning against the doorpost and deep in conversation with Stan. The closer he got, the easier it became for him to pick up words like "Kenny" and "crush" and "okay" and, since it was _Kenny_, curiosity won out over concern as he came up behind his brother. "What did Kenny get crushed by now?"

Ike whirled around, staring at Kyle all wide-eyed and shocked. Then he huffed. "Seriously, you're such an asshole Kyle. You could at least try and care."

"I cared the first time it happened and I cared the time he was dying of that serious illness. The rest of the time it's just funny."

Kyle was distracted from further explanation by the way Stan was looking at him, all warm and fond and bright like there was nothing else in the room besides Kyle. Which Kyle knew to be a lie because, in addition to the two of them, Sheila was in the kitchen making some sort of complicated vegetable stir-fry and Fillmore, Ike's little friend, was half-asleep on the couch. Or, at least, he had been but Kyle glanced over his shoulder to see him now watching the three of them with narrowed eyes.

"_Anyway_," Kyle continued loudly. "I care about Kenny and everything, but Stan's here to see me. Not you," he grabbed the back of Ike's shirt and dragged him out of the way. "And we're having dinner at his house so I'll probably be back late. Tell Mom."

He was out the door before Ike had the opportunity to say another word. Stan was smirking when Kyle finally turned to look at him, a smirk which only deepened when he noticed Kyle's eyes on him.

"It's nothing," Stan said before Kyle could complain. "We're making a pit stop before we head to my house. I hope you don't mind."

"Just try not to leave any marks this time. I don't want to have to sit through dinner with your parents with a hickey on my neck."

As soon as they reached the car, Stan grabbed Kyle's wrist and twisted him around until he was trapped between Stan's body and the car door. Then Stan cupped his cheeks and kissed Kyle so deeply he felt it all the way down to his toes. It was one of those moments that made Kyle's heart clench his chest, those moments that reminded him that, _yeah_, he was in love with this guy.

His hands clenched in the material of Stan's shirt and he couldn't help the little moans that kept falling from his mouth any more than he could help the way a single touch from Stan had the almost annoying habit of unraveling him from the inside out until his precious self-control was nothing more than a distant memory. He would have been happy to stay there, lost in the kiss, if it hadn't been for the seizure-inducing flash of light from beyond his lids.

They broke apart, gasping for air, and Kyle thought for a moment that he could see the same kind of desperate love reflecting from Stan's eyes as was no doubt shining from his own, but he tried not to get his hopes up. Instead, he looked over Stan's shoulder to see his father standing on the porch, flicking the light on and off. When he saw Kyle looking at him, he waved:

"You're making it really hard for your mother and I to ignore that you're sexually active, son! Maybe you should go do that somewhere else!"

"Do you need a condom? I can go get you one, bubbe!" his mother screamed from somewhere within the house. "Oi! Have I lectured you about safe sex yet?"

The heat that had flooded Kyle's body earlier was immediately replaced by embarrassment. "Oh, god, can we please leave? Quick, before she either comes out here or wakes the neighbors."

Stan's hands were massaging the small of his back, easing some of the tension, but not by much.

"Good idea. I'll try to contain myself," Stan said with a wink "But it'll be hard. In more ways than one."

Kyle shoved him playfully and got in the car.

Much to his surprise, Stan drove them out to Stark's Pond. The ice in the lake had started to melt, which meant it was a bit late (or early) in the year for skating, although why Stan would want to stop to do that before having dinner with his parents was beyond Kyle. The remaining ice made the lake too cold to go swimming, too. He glanced at Stan, trying to figure out what he was thinking, but Stan was humming along to a song on the radio with a peaceful look on his face that betrayed absolutely nothing about why they were there.

The car coasted to a stop and Kyle was no closer to figuring out why they were here. Stan turned to look at him and Kyle tried for a smirk.

"Dude, you're supposed to go swimming an hour _after_ eating, not an hour before."

Stan turned off the car without a word and climbed out. Kyle was unsure whether to follow him or not, the sudden change in mood causing his stomach to sink, but the decision was made for him when Stan pulled his door open and held out a hand to help him out. Kyle accepted the help, hesitating for a moment before following Stan to the water's edge and biting the inside of his cheek to keep from asking any questions.

The sun had set less than an hour ago, which meant the sky was just dark enough for some stars to be visible but still light enough that they could see the grassy bank and the murky, icy water. It was sort of romantic.

"I kissed Craig on Valentine's day."

And that sort of ruined it.

"I thought," Kyle said through gritted teeth. "You went on a date with Powder. And I thought Craig was dating Tweek."

Stan wasn't looking at him, but there was a little smile on his face as though there was anything amusing about the situation. Kyle wanted to punch him in the mouth.

"He and Tweek were having dinner in the same restaurant I took Powder to," The smile widened. "I hate Craig so goddamn much. And I know he feels the same way about me. Yet somehow we ended up in the bathroom—"

"_Why are you telling me this_?"

"—and Craig asked me why I was out with Powder if I was just going to spend all night wishing it was you. _Craig_ knew before I did. That's fucking weak, dude."

"Knew what?"

"Ah…" Stan finally realized that Kyle was getting more than a little huffy and finally turned to look at him, an appropriately sheepish expression on his face. "The part about kissing Craig isn't really what's important. He was just trying to help me get my priorities in order. Or something. I don't know. There's something wrong with him."

"There's something wrong with _you_," Kyle snapped. "If you seriously brought me out here to brag about swapping spit with Craig."

Stan ran his fingers through his hair and groaned in frustration. "No, that's not what I'm trying to say. I—Let me try this again." He paused briefly. "Fuck it. Kyle, I love you."

"Does Tweek know you made out with Craig?"

"What?"

"Wait, _what_?" Kyle's brain had finally processed Stan's words and now he could hear his own heartbeat, his stomach fluttering with fear or anticipation or… or fear. He laughed nervously. "I love you, too, Stan. Super best friends, right?"

"No. Well, yeah, but… no." Stan reached out and grabbed him by the shoulders, completely ignoring the way Kyle flinched at the contact. Then, Stan kissed him very softly on the mouth and pulled away to look at him so intently that Kyle forgot how to breathe for a minute. "I _love_ you, Kyle. I'm in love with you."

Kyle's lips worked silently for a minute, trying and failing to speak, and the longer the silence dragged on, the more distressed he became. Stan was waiting calmly for his reaction, but Kyle wanted nothing more than to run as fast as he could until he got home and could hide himself in his room so Stan couldn't fuck with him anymore.

"Why…" Kyle licked his hips, his voice a weak whisper. "Why are you telling me this? What am I supposed to say?" 

Stan cupped his cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. Kyle failed to suppress a shiver.

"You don't have to say anything." He smiled again, a beautiful smile that made Kyle feel lightheaded. "Eight months ago, I brought you here and I asked you out. At the time, I didn't think anything would really come of it. People have been mistaking us for a couple for years, even people we know, and I didn't really mind because the people we know are retards. I wasn't expecting any of this, but I'm so glad. I wish I was better with words so I could make you understand how happy I am. I've never been more in love with anyone in my life and I feel so peaceful knowing I've found the person I want to spend forever with. Friends or boyfriends, I want to be by your side forever. You don't have to do anything but let me. Okay?"

"Stan," Kyle's eyes stung, but he refused to blink. "Where is this coming from all of a sudden?"

"Let's just say we have some really awesome and patient friends." Stan released him only to check his watch. "Aw, goddamnit, we're going to be late for dinner. If you didn't already know what my dad was like, I'd be terrified. As it is, I'm just scared to subject you to this stupidity."

Kyle was aware that he should be following Stan to the car, but his entire body felt numb. His tongue felt too heavy to speak, but surely Stan could hear his heartbeat? It was so loud that Kyle didn't understand how Stan _couldn't_. It figured that the years spent anticipating this moment would make him catatonic when it happened. Kyle's life sucked like that.

Stan finally realized that Kyle wasn't following him and turned, brows furrowed. Then, to Kyle's horror, Stan's eyes widened and he looked heartbreakingly upset.

"Shit, I've ruined things, haven't I?" Stan asked, taking two steps toward Kyle before thinking better of it and stopping. "I just wanted you to know how I felt, Kyle. I'm not trying to pressure you into saying it back. Seriously. If you don't want to be with me anymore—"

"No!" Kyle managed at last, stumbling forward until they were face to face again. "No, I—Stan, I—" _Why couldn't he _say_ it? _"I—"

Stan rested a hand on his head and tugged him into a kiss. "Don't force yourself. It's okay." His smile resurfaced. "I love you."

"Stan—"

"Let's go," he caught Kyle's wrist and headed back toward the car.

Kyle's eyes were glued to the ground as he silently berated himself. What the hell was wrong with him? Stan was in love with him. _Finally_. And Kyle had just stood there like an idiot, asking stupid questions and never saying it back. If Kenny had been present, Kyle would have been the recipient of a well-deserved smack upside the head. Hell, he might still get one later if Kenny ever found out about this.

He glanced at the back of Stan's head, wondering how he could afford to be so calm about this. Kyle would have cut his own tongue out before confessing to Stan first, but Stan had pushed his way through it without even knowing Kyle's feelings and stood by his confession even when Kyle hadn't given him an answer. God, Kyle loved him _so much_.

They reached the car. As soon as Stan let go of his wrist to flick through his keys, Kyle came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Stan's waist, resting his cheek between Stan's shoulder blades.

"I… I'm sorry," Kyle whispered miserably. "I don't know why I…"

Stan reached behind him to rest one hand on Kyle's hip. Kyle had no idea how long they stayed like that, but eventually he found the strength to let go long enough for Stan to open the car.

The drive to the Marsh home was silent, but not uncomfortably so. Kyle was biting his lower lip and staring out the window—or, more accurately, he was watching Stan's reflection in the mirror. Stan was just as unruffled as he'd been on the ride over, even singing along to the song on the radio. Every so often, Kyle would build up the courage to say something—maybe not _that_ thing, but _something_—but then Stan would look over at him and smile and Kyle would withdraw into himself again.

Randy was sitting on the front step when Stan finally pulled into the driveway, watching them suspiciously.

"I hope you're ready for this," Stan said, reaching over to grab Kyle's hand and squeeze it reassuringly before climbing out of the car. Kyle hesitated only a moment before following.

It was going to be a _long_ night.

x

Stan had never hated his parents. He just thought they were stupid. There was a difference. However, the difference was rapidly being lost on him the longer this stupid dinner dragged on.

As soon as he and Kyle had gotten out of the car, his father had practically dragged Kyle away from him to ask him about school and how things were doing and how long Kyle had been buttfucking his son, to which Kyle had stammered out, "Blargh?" before being pulled into the house. Stan had stormed after them with the intention of lecturing his father (again) on acceptable behavior only to find that Kyle was now being forced into helping his mother put the food on the table and looked far more comfortable doing that. Everything was sugar-free and kosher, as she'd promised, and the smell of the food had been enough to lure Stan into a false sense of security. Maybe tonight wouldn't suck as bad as he'd thought. Maybe his dad had just been trying to get a rise out of him. Maybe everything would be okay.

Oh, how naïve he had been twenty minutes ago.

He and Kyle were seated on opposite ends of the table, otherwise Stan might be holding his hand for reassurance though he wasn't sure who needed it more at the moment.

"The end of September, _really_?" his mother was asking incredulously, either unaware of, or completely ignoring, the way Kyle was staring red-faced at his baby corn. "I would have guessed much earlier or much later. And he just asked you out straight out of the blue? No preamble?"

"Um. Yeah, kind of." Kyle met Stan's eyes briefly, then returned to staring at his baby corn. "But, I mean, no one was really… I think people already assumed that Stan and I were… so there hasn't really been any, you know, outcry about it or whatever. If you're worried about Stan's, um, reputation or… his position on the football team… or something…"

Kyle sounded so uncertain, which was a new thing for him. Stan was more used to him being stubbornly assertive about everything. He wanted to tell his parents to stop interrogating on his boyfriend, but they'd been resolutely ignoring his presence at the table thus far and he knew it wouldn't do much good.

"His reputation?" Randy blinked, sounding surprised. "We're not worried about Stan's reputation! As far as ass-partners go, I don't see how he could have done better than you. You're going places. Hell, you're probably smarter than Stan."

_He's definitely smarter than _you_, _would have been Stan's muttered response to that if he hadn't been busy joining Kyle in being stunned.

"Wait," Kyle said, managing to cling to the gift of speech more easily than Stan could. "Wait, but… I thought… you guys didn't approve of—"

"What? The buttfucking?"

"_Randy_," Sharon hissed before patting Kyle's shoulder reassuringly. "Kyle, we don't care what you and Stan want to get up to in your spare time, sexual or otherwise. We only wanted to make sure that the two of you knew what you were getting into. If we've been giving you a hard time, as I imagine we have been, it's only because we want the two of you to be absolutely sure that you'd chose one another over any obstacles that might come your way because obstacles _will_ come and I don't think either of you could stand to lose one another."

"I've seen you guys fight when you weren't doing each other up the ass," Randy continued. "It's pathetic. I don't want to see my son when he's gotten into a fight with you as your _boyfriend_. I don't want him wrapping his lips around a gun because he 'can't bear to live without you' or something."

Stan blinked. Then he blinked again.

Kyle looked adorably puzzled. "Wait. What?"

"Look," Sharon said and this time she finally turned to look at Stan as well. "The real reason I wanted to have Kyle over for dinner tonight was to tell the two of you that… we approve. It's been obvious for years that the two of you care about one another and if you've made the mature, well-thought out decision to take your relationship to a new level, we're not going to stand in your way. All we ask is that you're open and honest with us."

"And none of that running up to Canada to get married crap," Randy warned. "Mexico's closer."

Kyle's eyes met Stan's, the expression in them pleading. Stan picked his jaw up off the floor, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief that seemed almost too good to be true. On the one hand, what his parents were saying made a lot of sense. On the other hand, it made too much sense considering these were _his_ parents. He wasn't sure whether or not it was overly paranoid of him to be waiting for the catch.

"So, um, you're… you're okay with me and Kyle?" He narrowed his eyes at his dad in particular. "You're not going to force me out on anymore dates or talk bad about Kyle when he's not here or call us buttfuckers or—"

"No, none of that," Sharon said firmly, though Stan could see her digging her nails into Randy's arm almost hard enough to draw blood. "You guys are free to spend the rest of your time together in peace. Especially since, in all likelihood, you'll probably be going to separate colleges after next year."

The tension that had been coiling in Stan's body since the start of the dinner finally dissipated and he practically melted into his seat. "No, Kyle and I are going to college together. We applied to all the same colleges."

Randy raised a surprised eyebrow, studying Kyle appraisingly. "What, no ivy leagues? I thought you were born with a textbook in your mouth, Kyle."

Stan spaced out of yet another conversation in which the participants tried to subtly gloss over the fact that he was just not Ivy League material, _pleasantly_ surprised by his parents for the first time in his life. He was content enough to actually start eating his dinner rather than picking at it, which was as much of a thank you as they were going to get with Kyle still around.

His parents were okay with this. With _them_. Stan had expected to be hedging questions about the true nature of his and Kyle's relationship until they went off to college or until his dad came bursting into his room and found him and Kyle attached at the mouth, but this was much better. Less awkward explaining and more—well, he and Kyle probably wouldn't be acting much differently, but hopefully his parents would start knocking.

"—an?" he heard his father say distantly. Stan blinked back to the present to see all the occupants at the table staring at him, although Kyle looked more sheepish about it than his parents did.

He watched them all back warily. "What?"

"You're the one who announced that you and Kyle are going to college together, son," Randy repeated. "How are you planning to get into Yale?"

"Yale?"

"Yes, Yale."

"I'm not applying to Yale."

"Well, then what happens if Kyle gets in and you don't?"

Stan, feeling distinctly like he and his father were having two different conversations, directed his wary look at Kyle. "What?"

"Kyle was just telling us about how his mother was helping him apply to Yale," Sharon said with all the pride of a mother who might not have raised the kid herself, but could still take pride in their accomplishments. "And I think it's wonderful. Yale's got a great medical library."

"_Helped_ is kind of an understatement," Kyle explained solely for Stan's benefit. "As are any verbs that aren't _pressured_, _pushed_, or _forced_."

"If you're going to be a doctor, a degree from Yale under your belt is really going to help you on your way." Randy grinned. "Maybe you'll even get involved with the Skull & Bones society and end up ruling the world with an iron fist."

Kyle paled. "Oh, god, Cartman."

"What?"

"May I be excused?" Stan interrupted, pushing his plate away and getting up before anyone could say a word.

He was barely conscious of climbing the stairs up to his room, but he must have done so because one minute he was in the dining room and the next minute he was standing by his desk staring at a picture of himself and Kyle mooning cars from the rearview window of Cartman's car. His stomach turned at the sight of it. He set it face down and climbed onto the bed, lying on his back and staring pensively at the ceiling like he seemed to be doing a lot lately.

Kyle entered the room about five minutes later, closing and locking the door behind him. "Your parents said we can do whatever we want in here as long as they don't hear any noises," he whispered, slowly making his way over to the bed. "Are you mad at me?"

"I don't know," Stan answered honestly, shifting to make room for Kyle on the bed. "I don't _think_ so." Instead of folding himself into the space Stan had made for him, Kyle threw himself down half on top of Stan anyway. It was hard for Stan _not_ to smile as he wrapped his arms around Kyle and pulled him closer. "No, I'm not mad at you."

"Good, because it was all my mom's fault and I'm not going to Yale. She threw the hissy fit to end all hissy fits when she found out I hadn't sent my test scores to any ivy leagues. It was either apply to one or move out," Kyle sighed, trailing a finger along Stan's cheek. "I would have told you if I'd thought it was important."

"I know," Stan murmured, eyes sliding shut at the soothing sensation. "It's just… If you want to go to Yale, I don't want you to feel obligated to turn it down just because of some silly promise. I don't… I don't want to hold you back. You're the smartest fucking kid in South Park. You deserve to have everyone know that."

Kyle's lips touched his forehead, prompting Stan to open his eyes and take note of the quiet solemnity in his best friend's face. "I wouldn't be the smartest kid in South Park if I cared what everyone thought, Stan. _You're_ the one who's always been there supporting me, saving me…" Kyle's cheeks went red. "Loving me. You're the only one who matters. Don't get me wrong. I don't want to have to follow you anywhere and I don't want you to have to follow me anywhere either. Wherever we go, I want us to end up there together. Because we both want to be there."

"I… Kyle, I…"

Words failed him, but Kyle seemed to understand. He leaned down just as Stan was reaching up and their lips met halfway, mouths opening simultaneously and tongues dueling for dominance. Kyle's kisses were particularly fierce, his hands everywhere they could reach, his tongue dragging along the roof of Stan's mouth and drawing a gasp. Stan's hands involuntarily slid from Kyle's lower back to Kyle's ass and _squeezed_.

"God, Stan," Kyle breathed and, in the next second, Stan's wrists were pinned down on either side of his head and he was left panting and lightheaded and confused. Kyle kissed him again, but didn't let go of his wrists.

"What are you—"

"Stop talking."

"…um," Stan wondered what it said about him that he was unapologetically turned on by this. "Okay."

Kyle eyed him for another minute to confirm that, no, Stan wasn't planning to say anything else. Then, Kyle's lips attached themselves to the side of Stan's neck and Stan's mouth opened on a groan as Kyle bit down hard and swirled his tongue around the area to soothe it. With a warning squeeze that told Stan that moving was still not advisable, Kyle let go of one wrist in order to slide his hand under the material of Stan's shirt and gently stroke over his stomach, his chest, tracing one pert nipple.

Stan was torn between squirming away and arching closer and his body just settled for shaking indecisively as Kyle finished work on the hickey and pulled up Stan's shirt the rest of the way in order to replace his hand with his mouth.

Stan's fingers itched with the desire to reach down and tangle in Kyle's hair, but they didn't move as if pinned down by some invisible force which Stan's mind was helpfully identifying as 'Kyle's sex appeal'. Kyle's lips slid down Stan's stomach, tongue dipping into his belly button, hands massaging high on his thighs, and Stan had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out from how good it felt because his parents were home and he was still weirded out by that whole 'trust' thing they were trying.

Then, to his surprise, Kyle started undoing his belt.

"Kyle—what—wait—_fuck_."

Kyle's fingers were cold, but that quickly stopped mattering once he started moving them. His grip was too loose at first, a hesitant jerking of the wrist, but then he suddenly tightened his grip and tugged and stars exploded behind Stan's eyes. Stan hadn't gotten laid in an extremely long time and the rapid squeeze and tug felt _so good_ and his lungs felt like they were going to explode out of his chest cavity and Kyle hadn't even gotten a good rhythm going before Stan was coming with a whimper, eyes squeezed shut and lower lip clenched between his teeth. He heard Kyle shuffling about, but only vaguely what with his heart pounding in his ears, and then Kyle was back, murmuring something against his mouth as he leaned in for one more kiss.

"What?" Stan asked breathlessly, reaching for Kyle in order to reciprocate.

Kyle evaded his hands until he stopped trying, then settled down on top of Stan again. "I said… well, I… I mean… It was nothing. I'm good, don't worry."

"That was…" Any adjective he came up with seemed woefully inadequate. "God, Kyle, where did _that_ come from?"

Kyle's only response was to rest his head directly over Stan's still-stuttering heartbeat and sigh contentedly. Stan was a little too exhausted to pursue the matter further. He kissed the top of Kyle's forehead and closed his eyes, falling asleep almost instantly.

x

Wendy wasn't the 'halfaversary' celebrating type, but she hadn't bothered to mention that before she'd agreed to go out with Token that night. In all honesty, she'd kind of forgotten that the two of them had been dating for a full six months. After all, it wasn't like she'd spent most of that time thinking about _him_. She was pretty sure the only reason they'd lasted so long was because she often forgot they were even together. She was also pretty sure knowing that should make her feel bad, especially since she'd only agreed to go out with Token to give her the upper hand over a sociopathic teenage boy she'd ended up pursuing anyway, but Wendy was sure most of her conscience had gone on strike.

The pieces that were left were nagging at her, however, just enough for her to allow Token to kiss her hello and hold her hand as they walked down the street. Token had wanted to take his Bentley or even a town car, but Wendy had insisted against such showy things. She was a simple girl with simple tastes and Token tended to forget that. If he wanted to lavish all his money on a girl, he'd have to date someone else.

Token didn't seem to mind. He'd been talking in one of Wendy's ears and out the other for the last few blocks with no indication of being aware that she wasn't listening. They came to a stop at a corner and Wendy tuned in for a second to see what the next monosyllabic but appropriate response should be.

"—for the best that I stay nearby, anyway," Token finally looked down at her for a smile. "Too bad we can't go to college together, huh?"

Wendy blinked owlishly at him. "College?"

"…you haven't been listening to me this entire time, have you?" Token let go of her hand to sigh with a mixture of exasperation and exhaustion. "Wendy…"

The way he said her name made Wendy let go of his hand before he had the chance to let go of hers. Wendy recognized that tone. It was the tone Stan had used before he'd sat her down and told her that their relationship was going to end up getting them both killed. It was the tone she'd used on Token the last time she'd had to tell him that she'd had it up to here with being flown to Aruba on the weekends and couldn't take this anymore. It was _the_ tone, the _I'm tired of you_ or _I want something else_ or _I can't do this anymore_ tone. It was a tone that, despite the fact that Wendy barely treated him like a boyfriend, she was horrified to hear.

"What?" she asked with an edge to her voice, hugging herself to prepare for the inevitable blow. "I was just distracted."

"You've been distracted for the last six months," Token said patiently. "And I've been putting up with it for about as long because I really like you."

Wendy conscience made an appearance to privately agree with him, but she said nothing. He'd caught her off-guard. Honestly, she hadn't imagined them lasting until college let alone going there together. They weren't Stan and Kyle. Wendy had an easier time imagining her life without Token than with him. She'd thought he understood that or, at the very least, hadn't been taking them, _this_ seriously. The fact that she had been wrong, and that _he_ would have the audacity to break up with _her_ when she didn't even like him to begin with, made her very, very tired.

"Can we not do this right now?" she asked quietly.

"We're not doing anything right now. I just need you to meet me halfway here. If you want me to be your boyfriend when it's convenient for you, that's a completely different story—"

"No," Wendy hesitated only briefly before taking a step forward, placing her hands on his chest, and tilting her head up to capture his in a kiss. Token was unresponsive for a moment, but when his arms closed around her waist and he began to return the kiss leisurely. She pulled away and smiled. "I'm sorry. Tell me everything again. I'll listen this time."

Token shook his head, grinning. "I don't think you've earned it. You're going to have to do better than that if you want to make this up to me."

"I talk to you, don't I?" Wendy teased although she was half-serious. "Why isn't that enough for you? 

"It's enough," Token prattled on obliviously. "For now."

He kissed her again and Wendy wondered to herself, and not for the first time, why she didn't feel _anything_ when she was with him. Cartman had pressed her up against a locker and just _touched_ her and every nerve ending she had had felt like it was on fire. Token had stuck his tongue down her throat before and nothing. Why did Cartman have to be such an _asshole_? Or, better yet, why did Wendy have to be such a _bitch_? That may have made them sort of perfect for each other, but, in that annoying time between her acknowledgement of her feelings and Cartman's admittance of his, all Wendy could feel was guilty that she couldn't want someone well adjusted.

Token pulled away, laced their fingers together, and started walking again. "So, my parents are thinking of spending a month in Hawaii since it's never really summer in South Park. I would've invited you, but I know you've got your internship."

"When are you leaving?" asked Wendy, managing not to sound eager.

"July. I don't hear any sobbing."

"I'm… trying to be strong." Putting off breaking up with Token until he got back in July was something that required fortitude. The fortitude not to look too excited about his departure. The fortitude not to start thinking blasphemous things, like if Cartman would act differently around her knowing that Token was sort of out of the way. The fortitude not to take that amused, fond little smile off Token's face by informing him that she had not, was not, and probably never would be into him the way he was into her. Wendy had to be strong alright. _Really, really_ strong. "I'll cry myself to sleep tonight."

Token kissed her temple affectionately. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Wendy sighed.

They cut through the park, passing the basketball court where Stan and Cartman were busy playing one-on-one basketball. Token stopped even before she did to watch Stan go for a slam-dunk and get body slammed by Cartman. The ball still went in, but Stan hit the floor cursing and Cartman retrieved the ball, also cursing.

"Foul, fatass! _Foul_!" Stan snapped as he got to his feet and brushed himself off. "We're playing basketball, but hockey!"

"Don't blame me because you can't fucking make a shot, Marsh!"

"The ball went in!"

"Only because you cheated! Do over!"

"_What_?"

That was about when Cartman caught sight of first Wendy, then Token, and his mouth curved into a pissy little smile. "I see our resident love birds are on their way to find a bush for their latest bout of romantic public fucking on this, the night of their six month anniversary."

"Shut up, Cartman," Token said at the same time that Wendy asked, "How did you know it's our six month anniversary?"

Cartman ignored both of them and began bouncing the ball again.

Stan jogged over, staring between Wendy and Token with the same expression he'd been wearing when he'd found out that they were dating to begin with, then smiled. "It's your anniversary, huh? Congratulations."

Wendy heard Token thanking him, but her eyes were on Cartman. Cartman was shooting hoops alone in Stan's temporary absence, his shirt damp with sweat and clinging to his body in a way that allowed Wendy to see his muscle work and shift underneath it and—Token was taking her hand, forcing Wendy to tune back into the conversation in time to see Stan blush.

"I'm not sure what kind of anniversary Kyle and I would celebrate," he was saying with a shy little smile. "We've… hit a lot of milestones, the same one technically twice. Plus, anniversaries are kind of gay."

Token lifted an eyebrow at him. "Yes, because you and Kyle would never want to come off as kind of gay. I see." He laughed when Wendy nudged him with her shoulder. "Haven't the two of you being going out since September? Isn't that like eight months now?"

"Extenuating circumstances," Stan said, giving Wendy a meaningful look before returning his gaze to Token. "Maybe when we hit a full year I'll get him a pony or something."

"A pony?"

"Yes, Token. A pony. Or something of equal or greater value. Kyle's not picky."

And while Stan and Token dissolved into an argument about the validity of a pony as an anniversary present, Wendy couldn't help letting her attention wander and her body wandered with it until she was standing on the basketball court and catching the ball as it bounced off the hoop, drawing Cartman's attention to her. He narrowed his eyes at her as though he expected her to throw the ball at his head, but, instead, she simply tossed it over her shoulder and smiled at the way his face switched from annoyed to impressed.

"What the hell was that, bitch?" Cartman asked, picking up the ball and watching her warily. It was the same wary look he'd given her at the Christmas party, when she'd surprised him by taking a drink from the bottle, a look that suggested that his opinion of her was changing and he was waiting for her to prove him right or wrong.

Her smile widened. "I'm full of surprises."

"Huh."

Something like a smile flashed over his lips so quickly that she almost missed it. Almost, but not quite.

"I didn't know you could play basketball, Wendy," said Stan as he and Token approached them. Cartman's face closed off at the same time Wendy's did.

She turned to Stan and shrugged. "I don't suck, but I'm not joining the WNBA anytime soon either."

"Good. None of those bitches can actually play," Cartman said, tossing Stan the ball. Wendy felt her hackles rise, but before she had the chance to speak up in the defense of her gender in the professional basketball league, Stan was putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her before she started and spinning the ball on a finger.

"You guys headed somewhere or do you want to play for awhile?"

"Nowhere in particular, but," Token looked at Wendy, who was looking at him. This wasn't exactly the most conventional way to spend an anniversary, but Wendy didn't like conventional. And, as though he had finally picked up on that, he smiled. "Sounds like fun, actually."

Wendy was actually on her tiptoes and kissing Token's cheek before she realized what she was doing, the rush of affection as surprising as it was unfamiliar. Even Token looked a bit stunned, but he recovered quickly and grinned at her. Wendy didn't dare look at Stan or Cartman to see how they had taken her display.

"You choose the oddest dates," Token said, kissing her forehead. "But at least I know you don't just want me for my money."

"Alright, me and Wendy against Cartman and Token," Stan said as he handed the ball to Token. "Your ball and try not to cry when we beat you."

Cartman snorted, shoving Stan out of the way as he went to get into position for the game. "Yeah fucking right, Marsh. I've got a black guy on my side. You and the ho don't stand a chance."

Token rolled his eyes and Wendy stifled a laugh and then the game was on.

x

Kenny had just finished brushing up on the easiest way to hotwire a Volkswagen beetle when Kyle shuffled into the garage, looked around nervously, and headed in his direction. Kenny wasn't technically supposed to sit on the cars and eat his lunch, but his boss didn't seem to care what he did as long as he did it on his break and Kenny appreciated the don't ask, don't tell policy since it fit rather neatly into his deviant lifestyle. Not having his friends in the garage had become a moot point since Butters made it a point to visit Kenny at least once a day. So, really, as long as Kenny didn't make out with people in the cars (again), he pretty much had free reign in the garage for about forty-five minutes every day. It was a lot better than school, he had to give it that much. He knew Kyle would respectfully disagree, though, but that was another argument for another day

"How did you and Stan fuck up your relationship now?" Kenny asked in-between bites of peanut butter and jelly. "Condense it for me. I only have ten more minutes left."

Kyle fidgeted for a moment, pushing his hat up off his forehead so he could rearrange his curls then pulling it back down almost low enough to cover his eyes. "Stan told me he loved me and I didn't say it back."

Kenny stopped eating. "_What_?"

The only thing, the _only thing_, that kept Kenny from screaming it was the fact that Kyle was already flinching like he was expecting it and Kenny hated to be predictable. You couldn't get through to Kyle by saying what he expected you to say. The little genius would have countered all your arguments in his head long before he ever arrived to talk. No, to get through to Kyle, Kenny knew he had to outsmart him in the one area where he failed: people skills.

"Tell me what happened," Kenny said calmly, hopping down off the beetle. "Don't leave anything out."

Kyle sighed like he'd been expecting this, too, and related the entire story to Kenny from Stan's arrival to his house right down to the hand job he'd given Stan before they fell asleep tangled together. Kenny had been hoping for a little more detail on _that_ part of the story, but Kyle glossed right over it like he gave handjobs so often they weren't worth remembering. Which… Kenny could think about later when he was in bed.

"And in the morning, I had to leave while he was still sleeping and I tried to say it then but I couldn't even though he was fucking unconscious," Kyle kicked over a nearby toolbox in frustration. "I _love_ Stan. I'm in _love_ with Stan. I can tell you. Why can't I tell _him_?"

Kenny's obvious answer to that question—"because you, my friend, are a fucking moron"—was scrapped in favor of a more understanding answer. "Honestly, I'm surprised you haven't blurted it out in the heat of the moment before now. You're not exactly known for your patience, Broflovski."

Kyle looked so exhausted for a moment that Kenny couldn't help but scoop him up into a hug that very easily turned into a shameless grope that had Kyle stiffening and replacing that miserable exhaustion with righteous indignation. Kenny laughed as he was shoved back, noting from the shift in Kyle's expression that Kyle had caught on and was grateful.

"Look," Kenny said, popping the last piece of his sandwich in his mouth. "Stop worrying about it. Stan can read your moods better than anyone else. He's going to be able to tell you're uncomfortable and he's going to figure it's because of what he said and then you're going to have an even bigger problem on your hands. Stan's a giant pussy. He'd say or do anything to make you happy. Even," he continued as casually as he could. "Take it back."

Predictably, Kyle's face paled. "You think he'd—"

"Not on his own. I know Stan and he wouldn't have said it if he wasn't completely sure he was feeling it. But if it was killing your relationship?" Kenny placed a comforting hand on his shoulder even as he said the words he knew would have Kyle stressing himself into an early grave for the rest of the week. "He'd either take it back or break up with you, because he thinks it's what _you_ want."

"But—what I want—All I've ever wanted—"

"I know," Kenny said. "Tell _him_."

Kyle's knees almost seemed to give out as he sank down on the hood of a nearby car, staring at his feet in shock. Kenny was smug in the knowledge that whatever Kyle had expected him to say, it hadn't been that and though he felt bad for upsetting one of his best friends so completely it would be worth it if it got him and Stan to sort their shit out. Keeping an eye on the clock, he moved until he was standing in front of Kyle and placed his hands on Kyle's shoulders.

"Broflovski," he said as gently as he could. Kyle stared up at him with sad, sad eyes. "We know you're the only Jew in South Park. We know Cartman's made it pretty much impossible for you to ever let your guard down. But it's _Stan_. If you can't let _him_ in, after all he's done for you and all the years the two of you have spent together, then you may as well give up. And Stan's never given up on you."

Kyle's shoulders slumped in defeat and Kenny took the victory for what it was, checking the time again. "I have to get back to work. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I'm," Kyle sighed and stood. "I needed to hear all that."

"I know. I mean, it's not like you ever come see me to talk about _me_."

Kyle looked indignant for a second—even though it was completely true—but Kenny waved him off and started picking up the tools Kyle had kicked over, effectively ending the discussion. He heard Kyle's footsteps fade slowly away and chuckled to himself. Who ever thought there'd come a day when _Kenny_ McCormick was the only one in a healthy, balanced relationship? Although, if Stan and Kyle couldn't figure it out, Kenny didn't have much hope for the rest of the world.

x

Kyle was out sick again, which left Stan to hang out with Cartman and Butters during lunch since Wendy was sitting with Token. Cartman was watching the actually happy couple with thinly veiled disdain, Butters was constructing a volcano out of his mashed potatoes, and Stan was considering using his free period to swing by Kyle's house and bring him some joy and some Kleenex, but he didn't want to seem all obsessive and clingy especially so soon after telling Kyle that he loved him. Then again, swinging by Kyle's house to check on him was exactly the kind of thing Stan would have done even back when they were just friends and he hadn't gone a full day without seeing Kyle for about as far back as he could remember.

"I can't wait until those two break up," Cartman said, snapping Stan out of his thoughts. "Even if they shock me by lasting until we graduate, there's no way Token can hang onto Wendy when she and I are at Harvard and Token's at the University of Colorado."

"Token's going to the University of Colorado?" Stan asked in surprise, watching Token offer Wendy a bite of his jello.

"Obviously. He's nowhere near as smart as that hippie ho he's screwing around with. The only way he could get into an ivy is if he asked his parents to buy them a new building like the black asshole he is."

Butters dumped the gravy into the indentation in his potatoes. "Y-You shouldn't call Token an asshole, Eric. It's not nice. And he's plenty smart."

"Not smart enough for Wendy," Cartman muttered, glancing over at Butters then slamming his hand down on the mashed potato volcano mercilessly. The potatoes splashed all over Butters' shirt and Butters looked down at the mess for a moment, then sighed but didn't complain. Stan was a little too tired to do it for him.

"Who are you to decide whether or not someone is smart enough to be with Wendy, fatass?" Stan asked instead of asking the obvious, which was how he had managed to miss the part where Wendy and Cartman were on a first name basis with each other. Because something about what Cartman was saying was making his throat close up. "Maybe it's not about that for her."

Cartman gave him a _look_.

"Wendy Testaburger is a fucking genius who's probably going to end up winning a bunch of Nobel Prizes for medicine and literature and all that shit she's always protesting about and Token's going to stand out like a slave in all her photographs if she doesn't dump him like a drug habit and get herself someone who can actually stand next to her with achievements of his own. Like, say," Cartman puffed out his chest. "A chain of theme parks and plans for world domination. Token's just holding her back."

Stan looked over at Wendy and Token, who were now talking to Bebe and Clyde respectively, then stared down at the table. "Maybe he loves her. Maybe Wendy doesn't mind."

"How much can he really love her if he's going to sit around and pretend she doesn't deserve to have everything she wants, even if it doesn't include him?"

"I'ah know Token wouldn't do that to Wendy," Butters said without glancing up from his futile attempts to clean the mess off his shirt. "H-He really likes her and he wants what's best for her."

_What's best for her…_ Stan's mind repeated, thinking not of Wendy but of Kyle. Kyle, who was applying to Yale and not going because they both knew Stan couldn't get in. Kyle, who hadn't said that he loved Stan but was still willing to give up going to _Yale_ for him, even though Kyle wanted to be a doctor and a degree from Yale would look a hell of a lot better than a degree from a college Stan could actually get into. Was it selfish of Stan to just _let_ Kyle give up such a big part of his future? Did that somehow mean that Stan loved him less?

But…

"What if what's best for someone isn't something they think they want?" Stan asked no one in particular. "What if you know they'll fight you if you try to give them what they deserve?"

Cartman and Butters both looked at him, the former as though he'd lost his mind and the latter in absolute confusion.

"I know you probably don't have experience with this considering you and the dirty Jew are butt pirating each other all day long, but sometimes your woman doesn't know what she wants," and for some reason, Cartman returned to glaring at Wendy and Token as he spoke. "And sometimes you've got to show her. Cruelly. Viciously. Often, mercilessly. It's called tough love."

Butters glanced between Cartman and Stan silently for a moment, then grabbed a hold of Stan's sleeve and tugged. "I-I'm not sure Eric is the best person to go to for advice in this situation, Stan. Maybe you oughta talk to Kenny instead?"

"Maybe," Stan murmured distractedly, shoving his tray away and getting to his feet. "Throw that out for me, would you? Tell our teacher I went home sick."

Stan heard Butters calling his name, but didn't stop walking until he was out in the parking lot and then climbing behind the wheel of his car. He was beginning to think he was wrong, earlier. Wanting Kyle with him didn't mean that Stan loved him any less. Stan wanted all the same things Kyle wanted and Kyle had made it clear that what he wanted was Stan. Did giving himself to Kyle make Stan selfish because doing so meant Kyle would give up going to a school he'd been working his whole life to get into? Why should Kyle have to make that kind of sacrifice without Stan having to give up something as well?

He was at Kyle's house before he knew it, knocking on the door and waiting until Kyle appeared, wrapped in a blanket with his nose very red and his eyes very shiny. He sniffled, staring up at Stan with warm surprise.

"Shouldn't you be at school?" Kyle managed to ask before Stan was pulling him into a hug, the feel of Kyle, too hot yet so perfect, in his arms doing wonders to calm his troubled mind. Kyle tensed for the briefest of moments before relaxing into Stan's embrace, resting his cheek against Stan's collarbone and pressing closer to Stan's chest. Stan held on for as long as he could, then finally let go and stepped into the house so Kyle could shut the door behind him. And still he didn't say anything.

Kyle walked over to the couch, where he had apparently taken up residence if the vat of sugar-free vanilla ice cream, TV remote, and telephone sticking out of the mass of blankets there were anything to go by, and arranged himself until Stan could see nothing of him but his eyes. Even then, Stan didn't have a hard time reading Kyle's emotions. Kyle was confused, but wasn't going to ask out of respect for Stan's privacy because he rightly guessed that if Stan wanted to talk, he would have done so already. Stan knelt down in front of the blanket mass, reaching in until his hands found either side of Kyle's face, then pulled the boy into a kiss so deep they were both panting when it ended.

"Shouldn't you be at school?" Kyle repeated, sounding a bit more dazed this time around.

Stan smiled. "Move over."

Kyle made room for him in the blanket pile and Stan climbed in, wrapping his arms around Kyle and pressing a kiss just below his ear. Kyle sighed in contentment, stifling a cough with the back of his hand.

"I love you," Stan said softly. "Maybe too much."

"What?"

"Kyle, I think… I think you should go to Yale." He felt Kyle tensing in his arms and tightened his hold on him. "Hear me out. Yale's got a great medical college and I know you're going to make a great doctor one day. You shouldn't let me stop you from getting the best education you can. And Yale's the best. I… I don't want you missing out just because… I…"

Kyle turned around until they were pressed stomach to stomach, not unlike the first time they'd had this conversation. Except Stan wasn't going to let Kyle distract him with his magic fingers. Not this time.

"Just promise me you'll think about it?" Stan pleaded, his throat closing again. "At least promise me that."

"Stan—"

"Promise me, Kyle."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "I promise. Shit, dude, I leave you alone for one day and suddenly you want me to go to Yale?" He paused. "Have you been fucking talking to Cartman?"

Stan didn't bother to dignify that with a response. He talked to Cartman all the time and Kyle never usually came up in conversation. They hadn't even been talking about Kyle, not really. Not in the way Kyle was probably thinking.

Kyle sighed and then nearly fell off the couch trying to get far enough away from Stan to sneeze without getting germs all over him. Stan hid a smile.

"So, how about I stay over tonight and help your mother make you some soup later?"

Kyle blew his nose, then snuggled up close again. "That sounds awesome, dude."

Five minutes later, Kyle was fast asleep on top of him. Outside their cocoon of blankets, Stan could hear Kyle's parents moving around upstairs, had to avoid Sheila's hand once as she reached in to ruffle Kyle's hair, and eventually heard Ike come home, talk with Fillmore about his brother's weak immune system, then stomp up the stairs. Kyle didn't stir the entire time and Stan held him with a sad smile, knowing that the time he had left to spend with Kyle was now getting limited. Because he knew Kyle better than he knew himself and he knew for a fact that Kyle wasn't going to Yale unless something drastic happened to change his mind about staying with Stan.

_It's called tough love._

Kyle murmured something that sounded a lot like Stan's name.

Stan held back a sigh.

x

Red was attempting to teach Wendy how to French braid hair to help prepare her for her internship since Wendy thought French braids were powerful and distinguished but couldn't do one to save her life. The two of them had already showered and changed out of their sweaty baby tees and shorts now that cheerleading practice was over, but Bebe kept two different outfits in her locker and was having a hard time deciding between them. She kept one ear on the one-sided conversation going on behind her, but most of her attention was trying to decide between the rose pink eye shadow and the matching button-down shirt or the true blue eye shadow and the matching off-the-shoulder top. It was a very important decision.

"Kenny's been doing pretty well for himself since he dropped out, you know," Red said cheerfully. "I dropped by his garage the other day, he's got all these new _muscles_ and everything and he was all _dirty_. I was this close to hitting on him before I got closer and realized he was pinning Butters down on the hood of a car and not, you know, _fixing one_ like he's getting paid to do. How do you get that kind of job at seventeen?"

"Lie about your age," Wendy and Bebe said simultaneously.

Red hummed thoughtfully. "That makes sense. Anyway, with all the guys getting taken by other girls and even other guys, pretty soon, the only one left's going to be, like… _Cartman_. Although…"

"Patty Nelson's got her claws in Cartman," Wendy surprised Bebe by saying. "She's on the list and everything."

"Like the _list_ matters," Red cut herself off when she saw how fiercely Bebe was glaring at her through the locker mirror and cleared her throat. "Well, anyway, that's irrelevant. If _Cartman_ suddenly got interested in _me_, technically, I wouldn't have done anything to actively force him to and, technically, I wouldn't have breached the stipulations of the almighty list."

Red's bag vibrated before either Bebe or Wendy could respond and she dug through it, grabbed her phone, and checked the display. "Oh, my dad's here. I'll finish showing you tomorrow, Wendy, but you can probably wear that out if you rubber band the rest. Bye, girls!"

As soon as the locker room door slammed behind her, Wendy announced, "I think I'm going to have to break up with Token."

Bebe finally decided on the rose pink.

"Well, let's see Wendy. You two have been dating for six months, you didn't like him then, you don't like him now, and you're in love with Cartman. But, no, please, feel free to enlighten me with whatever bullshit reason you've finally decided to go with instead of just admitting you're in love with Cartman."

There was a very long pause. Then Wendy murmured, "Well, _aside_ from the fact that I'm—Aside from Cartman, Token's going to Hawaii for the summer and we're going to college on two different sides of the country and I already know I'm not going to miss him and I think he knows it, too. So. Might as well."

"Uh huh."

"And maybe I'll be a super bitch and break up with him over the phone while he's gone to eliminate any chance of him wanting to repeat this horrible experience at any point during senior year."

"Uh huh."

"And then I was thinking I might let Cartman knock me up. You know, give up my future to raise another baby psychopath."

"Uh huh."

"You're not listening to me at all, are you?"

Bebe removed her towel and replaced it with a white tank top, her pink button-down shirt, and her denim jeans that hugged her hips in all the right places. She followed this with her trusty red jacket and grey mittens.

"I'm listening. You're breaking up with Token for Cartman. The whys don't really matter." Bebe finished blending her eye shadow until she was satisfied and catching sight of the paper sticking out of her bag. She held in a sigh, checked herself in the mirror one more time, then steeled herself as she grabbed her bag and turned. "Look, I'm going to tell you something and you can't hate me for it, okay? I cannot stress enough how important it is that you don't hate me."

Wendy looked appropriately puzzled as Bebe threw a leg over the bench and sat down, biting her lower lip. It wasn't so much that she was afraid Wendy would be hurt. Being hurt would require caring, and they both knew Wendy didn't. It was more Wendy's pride Bebe was afraid of and what would happen if Bebe so much as dented it.

"My moral compass has never exactly pointed north, which is probably why I've been supporting you no matter what you decide about Token. But you should know…" She tugged the list of out her bag, flipped it to the right page, then slid it across the bench to Wendy and waited.

Wendy still looked puzzled even as she scanned it, but then realization dawned on her face and she stared at Bebe incredulously over the paper. "_You're_ next on the list for Token?"

"Well. Yeah."

"You _like_ Token?"

"I don't hate him."

Wendy narrowed her eyes.

"_Okay_, god, maybe I kind of do," Bebe huffed, lowering her own. "If you'd give him a _chance_, you'd notice he's actually really down to earth and funny and not rubbing his money in your face to be an _asshole_, it's unintentional and—_I'm_ not the one who broke up with him back when we were dating, you know? _He_ broke up with _me_."

"I thought you liked Kyle," was Wendy's idea of a response. Her tone revealed nothing about how she was taking this and Bebe didn't know whether she should prepare to run or stop talking or _what_. Wendy was kind of a bitch like that.

"I did. Kyle's hot. But I got over it." Bebe carefully reached over and took the list back, stuffing it in her bag again. "Aside from the part where he left me for you, Token always treated me really well. We get along. His parents can't stand me, though. They think I'm a gold digging whore and I'm pretty sure they threatened to disinherit him if he kept dating me. They like _you_, even though you're inconsistent and don't even pretend to like Token very much. Everyone likes you. I consoled myself by thinking he only dumped me for you because his parents made him, but sometimes…"

"What happened to him 'really liking' me?" Wendy asked in the same tone of voice.

Bebe sighed. "Look, if you're pissed, just be pissed, but otherwise I'm going home."

She got as far as the door before she heard something that sounded suspiciously like a snort and turned to see Wendy covering her mouth with her hand and Wendy's shoulders shaking with unmistakable laughter. Bebe didn't know whether to be confused or outraged.

"Did you… did you seriously think I was going to get jealous over _Token_? I have to keep Patty Nelson from whoring her way into Cartman's pants; I don't give a shit if you want in Token's!" Wendy managed in between her giggles. "You'd be doing me a _favor_."

Bebe was too stunned to even speak for a moment.

Wendy giggled again. "Seriously, Bebe, it's _Token_. Give me a break."

"I… You are so cool," Bebe smiled. "Did you know… at my Christmas party, I got so wasted after Kyle turned me down. Token came upstairs and he took the bottle away and tried to get me to sleep it off, but I wouldn't listen to him. I don't remember much, something about body shots, whatever, but when I woke up the next morning…" Her cheeks turned a bit pink. "There was a glass of water and some aspirin and a note that said to call him when I felt better so he wouldn't worry. And I'd been ignoring him if not outright hostile to him up until that point. He's _such_ a nice guy, Wendy."

Wendy returned the smile. "So, _you_ date him then."

"Don't you think I would be if I could've? He certainly bitches about you often enough. That's the thing, though. I'm tired of hearing about _you_. And it's been a long time since fifth grade, he's probably over me." Bebe covered her eyes with her hands, then peered at Wendy through the cracks in her fingers. It felt so good to finally be talking about it to someone other than _Red_, who would just stare wide-eyed at her and tell her that Wendy was going to claw her eyes out. "You're really not mad?"

"I'm really not mad."

"Cool." Bebe paused. "So… I heard you spent your anniversary with Token _and_ Cartman?"

Wendy laughed.

x

"Is it just me," Kyle said as he dropped his books on the table in the library where Butters and Cartman were sitting. "Or is Stan avoiding me? What did you say to him, fatass?"

Cartman stared at him, bored. "Kyle. I have told him that you are diabetic, sickly, and a fucking asshole. I've told him you're a selfish, shortsighted, neurotic dick who couldn't keep your huge Jew nose out of other people's business if you were dead and sixty thousand leagues under the sea. I even told him you were a _soulless, Jesus-killing Jew_. For some reason, he's still fucking you. Why don't _you_ tell _me_ what I said so I can say it first the next time he thinks about living in sin with you?"

Kyle considered that for a moment, then fell silent as he unpacked his things and scanned the library for any sign of his absent boyfriend. Predictably, Stan was nowhere to be seen.

"Stan seemed real upset the other day when we were talking about Token and Wendy," Butters said helpfully. "Stan didn't like the idea of Wendy being too good for Token and how they're going to different colleges."

Kyle blinked.

"He went running off right after." Butters lowered his voice so that Cartman, who was busy making spitballs to terrorize the students with, couldn't hear him. "I'm pretty sure he was getting worried about the two of you, but I'ah don't know why. D-Did you two have a fight?"

"Not… exactly?" Kyle had been a little too out of it to dig too deeply into anything Stan had been trying to impress upon him while he'd been sick. He'd fallen asleep on Stan but when he had woken up, Stan was gone and there was a note stuck to his Nyquil that said 'think about it'. It was only then that Kyle had remembered that Stan was suddenly trying to back out of their promise, but Stan wasn't returning his calls and when Kyle had driven to his house, Stan's car had been gone. "I'm not sure, actually. I didn't think we had, but maybe we did."

"K-Kenny told me you—hey, there's Stan. Hey, Stan!" Butters waved Stan down as soon as he stepped into the library. Kyle tried not to be offended when Stan smiled distantly, took two steps toward them, spotted Kyle, and hesitated.

"Hey, Butters," Stan said once he finally stopped being a giant pussy and sat down. "Cartman. Kyle."

Cartman had been seconds away from aiming a spitball at Lola's head that hit Stan instead when he turned to greet him.

Stan wiped his cheek. "Sick, dude."

Kyle was glaring at him from across the table, but Stan seemed quite content to ignore him unless Kyle did something drastic. And by "drastic" he meant something like "snatching the freshly loaded spitball straw out of Cartman's mouth and nailing Stan right between the eyes with one."

Stan glared back, wiping his forehead. "Real mature, _Kyle_."

"Almost as mature as ignoring your goddamn boyfriend for no reason, _Stan_."

"Kyle, always with the sand in your vagina," Cartman said helpfully, rolling his eyes and taking his spitball straw back. He then peered at it in disgusting. "You got your fucking Jew germs all over it. Now what am I supposed to use?"

Kyle continued to glower at Stan until Stan got uncomfortable, pushed his chair out, and stood. "God, dude, let's go before you burn a hole in my face with your eyes."

"Y-You aren't gonna fight, are you fellas?" Butters asked as Kyle gathered his things, but both boys ignored him in favor of leaving the library without a word. Kyle couldn't even wait until they'd found an empty class room or something, shoving Stan forward and feeling cruelly satisfied when Stan stumbled and nearly fell.

Stan whirled around and shoved him back, grabbing Kyle's arms a second later to keep him from flinging himself on top of Stan and turning this into an all out fight. Kyle struggled against him for a moment, then gave up, instead settling for transferring all of his hostility into his gaze.

"You can't just tell me you love me and then _ignore_ me, you fucking dick!" he snapped, yanking his arms back. "You were supposed to get _better_ at this, not worse!"

Stan ran his fingers through his hair, looking at Kyle in frustration. Kyle's chin was lifted defiantly, his eyes were burning with anger he was sure, and his fists were clenched at his side and ready to punch Stan in the mouth if it had to come to that, but his heart was pounding a terrified beat in his chest because Kenny's words were running through his head the longer Stan stared at him and Kyle was so prepared for Stan to break his heart right then that he barely heard what Stan actually said.

"What?" Kyle asked, trying to listen over the sound of his own pulse pounding in his ears.

"I _said_ I love you," Stan repeated, shoulders slumping in defeat. "And I don't want you to go to Yale."

"Okay," Kyle could not understand why they were still even having this conversation, let alone why standing was acting not wanting Kyle to go to Yale was some kind of capital punishment for which he expected to be shot. Hadn't he made himself clear about this already. "Then I won't."

For some reason, his words only made Stan _more _upset. "I _know_. That's why you have to."

"Stan…" Kyle could tell that Stan was about to interrupt with something stupid and if he had to hear the word 'Yale' one more time in this conversation he would probably punch Stan in the mouth. He solved both of these problems by surging forward and kissing Stan instead, his lips reacquainting themselves with the feel and shape of Stan's. He very nearly lost himself in the kiss, so long had it been, but Stan's hands were cupping his cheeks and the warm sensation reminded Kyle of his point and the fact that he had one. He pulled back with an air of determination. "Come by my house later."

"We're in the middle of a serious discussion here, Kyle," Stan said, but he sounded breathless and appropriately distracted. "I'm not going to let you—"

"Just come by my house later," Kyle backed up until there was enough distance between himself and Stan for Stan to understand that he was serious. "We can finish this conversation then, but just… do it, okay?"

Stan might have been about to argue again, but then the bell rang and kids began to pour out into the hallway and Kyle took the opportunity to disappear into the crowd. Between now and Stan's arrival he had a _lot_ of work to do.

x

Stan didn't actually get around to going to Kyle's house until late afternoon. Kyle had called him twice and each time Stan had just stared at the phone until it had stopped ringing, thinking about calling Kyle to cancel, thinking of just avoiding Kyle entirely until graduation. But, in the end, Stan couldn't do that. Not simply because he didn't want but because he really _couldn't_. Kyle went to school with him, they had most of the same classes, and Kyle knew five different ways to sneak into his house. No matter what he did, Stan was pretty much boned.

It was with much trepidation that he let himself into Kyle's house and headed up to Kyle's room. The boy in question was suspiciously absent, but it didn't take Stan very long to notice that there had been a bit of interior decorating. Arranged in a collage over his bed were all of the scraps of paper that Stan had given him, all of the reasons Stan had given for loving him, and right in the center of the collage was what Stan presumed Kyle had chosen as the most important reason of all:

_Reason 2: I like your hat. You only wear it every once in awhile now, but it's still the greatest hat I've ever known._

Stan laughed.

"Finally," he heard from behind him and turned to see Kyle stepped into the room and closing the door behind him. Kyle's hair was damp and he was wearing his pajamas, but the top was soaked through and there was a towel around his neck, which meant that Kyle was fresh from a shower and Stan was a little turned on. Kyle carried on obliviously, "I want to do this properly so give me a second."

Stan nodded vaguely and sat down on the bed while Kyle moved around, drying his hair with the towel, then tossing it in the laundry hamper. Then Kyle was standing in front of him, his eyes earnest, and Stan got to his feet because he really didn't think he wanted to be sitting down for this.

"I… earlier… weeks ago, when you told me you loved me, I didn't say anything back. And it wasn't because I didn't feel the same way." Kyle started, sounding nervous at first, but then getting matter-of-fact with a tinge of embarrassed anger that made Stan's heart ache. "It just seemed too good to be true and part of me didn't want to accept it, but I don't want you to think I don't love you. Because I do." Kyle reached up and touched his cheek. "I really fucking love you… even when you're being a total dick."

Stan laughed, but it was a breathless sort of laugh because he was so _happy_ and yet he was seconds away from crying. He covered Kyle's hand with his own, then removed it, bringing it to his lips instead for a kiss. And then he was tugging Kyle closer and kissing him, hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping into Kyle's mouth without preamble, his hands wandering the length of Kyle's body. Kyle moaned into his mouth, his hands under Stan's shirt before Stan could stop them, tracing his stomach in light, teasing motions, making Stan want more. His body remembered well the feel of Kyle's hand wrapped around him and he was already aching to feel it again.

Somehow, he managed to drag his lips away—but then Kyle only began nibbling at his neck, his hands tracing the top of Stan's jeans as though he meant to rid Stan of them as soon as possible. Stan's body said _good plan_, but his mind and heart forced him to seize Kyle's hands and push the boy away.

"I shouldn't have," he said by way of explanation, averting his gaze from Kyle's confused expression. "Kyle, I didn't come over for… for that. I'm breaking up with you."

Kyle's voice, when it finally came, was flat. "You realize that isn't funny?"

"I'm not joking." Stan couldn't look at him, instead focusing on the carpet, one hand reaching up to trail through his hair nervously. "I can't do this anymore, okay? I love you, but I just can't—"

"You _love_ me?" Kyle laughed, but it was an ugly, bitter sound. "Stan, _I_ love you, okay? I know what it's like to love you. I know what it's like to wake up every morning dying to see you and go to bed every night thinking _today wasn't enough_. I know what it's like to hang on your every word, remember your every like and dislike, hate girls for getting to touch you the way I can't, and wish desperately that you'd look at me the way I looked at you, even if it was just for a second. And when you finally, when you _finally_ wanted me, I knew what it was like to get everything and nothing I wanted all at the same time. And now you're… you're just going to end it? And _why_? Is this about fucking Yale?"

Stan shook his head although, yes, yes it really was. Because he knew Kyle and he knew that if he dared say yes, Kyle would never so much as _think_ about Yale again, just to spite him. "I just can't do this anymore, Kyle. It's—It's weird and it's too hard and—"

"Stan!" There was a desperate warning in Kyle's voice, but Stan ignored it and pushed past him before he did something stupid—like too it back. "_Stan_!" Kyle called again, but Stan didn't stop, didn't turn, and didn't slow down until he was back in his car and careening down the street back to his house. His cell phone rang once—twice—three times on his way back, but Stan ignored it and left his phone in the car as he made his way inside.

"Stanley," his dad greeted as he walked in, lounging on the couch with a bottle of Heineken and his free arm around the back of his couch.

Sharon sat next to him in the circle of his arm and she smiled at Stan, a smile that soon faded as she stared at him. "Stan, sweetie? What's the matter? You're crying."

Stan blinked at her in response, reaching up to touch his face and noting that he was, in fact, crying. When had _that_ happened?

"Stanley," his dad repeated in a more worried tone and Stan found this whole thing just so fun he began to laugh and couldn't stop. Warm arms wrapped around him and Stan found himself being hugged by his mother like he hadn't since he was very, very small and he stopped laughing just long enough to say, "Kyle," in a hoarse little voice, tears falling even faster.

"Oh, honey…" Sharon murmured, hugging him tighter and Stan closed his eyes and cried and cried and cried.

x

TBC

x

**Author's Note:** What do you mean it's not still May? On the bright side, the story is now officially half-finished. And it is just in time for the birthday of the person who whom I started writing this story. Er. Happy birthday, love?


End file.
